CHAP 4: THE PALACE REVOLUTION—A COLD CONFRONTATION AT THE MORETTI ESTATE
Silvio Valenti’s eyes widened as he recognized me. For a moment, the arrogant heir of the South Side looked like a boy caught stealing from the church collection plate.
"Isabella Moretti," Silvio muttered, his knife still hovering near Bianca’s face. "You’ve got a lot of nerve walking into my house."
"This isn't your house, Silvio," I said, my voice calm, carrying an authority that made his own men look at each other with unease. "This is a warehouse on the North Side. And on the North Side, you are merely a guest who has overstayed his welcome."
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"I have ten men outside," Silvio threatened, trying to bolster his confidence.
"You had ten men," Gianni said, stepping forward into the light, his shotgun resting casually over his shoulder. "Right now, they're taking a very quiet, very permanent nap in the river."
Silvio’s face paled as he recognized my brother. "Gianni? You... you're supposed to be dead."
"I get that a lot," Gianni smiled, his eyes cold and predatory. "But as you can see, I’m very much alive. And I’m very protective of my sister."
Salvatore, still groveling on the floor with his chair on its side, managed to lift his head. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Gianni..." Salvatore whispered, his voice cracking. "Gianni, help me. She... Isabella... she took everything. She set me up."
I walked over to Salvatore. I didn't look at him with anger. I looked at him with the cold, detached pity one reserves for an animal that had been run over by a truck.
I reached down and gripped the back of his chair, pulling it upright with a single, sharp tug. Salvatore winced as his bound arms were jarred by the movement.
"I didn't set you up, Salvatore," I said softly, smoothing the lapels of his ruined tuxedo. "You set yourself up the moment you forgot who built this table. You thought because I sat quietly at your dinners, I didn't see the world you were building. But the truth is, I was just waiting for the concrete to dry."
I turned my back on him and looked at Silvio.
"Put the knife down, Silvio," I commanded. "And hand over the necklace."
Silvio hesitated, his eyes darting toward his remaining three men. But they were already slowly lowering their weapons, realizing they were completely outmatched by Gianni’s tactical team.
With a curse, Silvio tossed the black diamond necklace onto the concrete floor. It skittered to a stop near my feet.
I picked it up, feeling the weight of the diamond in my hand. I squeezed it, feeling the tiny micro-SD card nestled inside the metal setting.
"Thank you," I said.
"You think you can just take that and walk away?" Silvio spat. "My father... Don Valenti... he knows about the drive. He knows what's on it. He won't stop until he has it."
"Your father is a businessman, Silvio," I said, slipping the necklace into my pocket.
"And a businessman knows when to cut his losses. By tomorrow morning, your father will receive a copy of a very interesting document. A document showing that his own son—you, Silvio—has been funneling money from the Valenti shipping accounts into a private trust fund in Switzerland. He will be too busy dealing with his own family treason to worry about mine."
Silvio’s breath hitched. "How... how did you find out about that?"
"I am a Moretti, Silvio," I said, leaning in. "We don't just manage the money. We are the money."
THE DECISION
I turned my attention back to the tied couple.
Bianca was staring at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic hope. "Isabella... please. I didn't know. Salvatore... he lied to me! He told me the marriage was over. He told me you were nothing but a figurehead. Please, don't let them kill me."
I looked at her. Her makeup was ruined, her black silk dress torn, her expensive jewelry gone. She looked so small, so utterly insignificant compared to the threat she had pretended to be.
"You wanted my seat, Bianca," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You wanted my house, my husband, my life. You wanted the crown. But you forgot that the crown is heavy. And it has thorns."
"I'm sorry!" she wept. "I'll leave Chicago. I'll never come back! I swear!"
"I know you won't," I said. "Because if you ever set foot in this city again, I won't be the one you have to hide from. The Valentis will still be looking for their missing money. And I don't think they'll be as polite as I am."
I looked at Leo. "Cut her loose. Put her on a bus to nowhere. If she looks back, shoot her."
"Yes, ma'am," Leo said, stepping forward with his pocket knife.
Bianca scrambled out of her chair the moment the ropes fell, not even looking back at Salvatore as she fled into the dark night, her bare feet slapping against the cold concrete.
Now, only Salvatore remained.
He sat in his chair, looking up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of terror, hatred, and a sudden, terrible realization of his own insignificance.
"And me?" Salvatore whispered, his voice trembling. "What are you going to do with me, Isabella? You going to have Gianni put a bullet in my head? Like you did with your father’s enemies?"
"A bullet?" I laughed, a rich, dark sound that echoed through the warehouse.
"A bullet is too quick, Salvatore. And too merciful. A bullet makes you a martyr to the few fools who still believe in your name. No... I have a much better plan for you."
"What?"
I leaned down, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered the final, devastating truth.
"I’m going to let you live."
THE TRAP SPRUNG
Salvatore blinked, confused. "Live?"
"Yes," I said, straightening up.
"I’m going to let you live in the world you built for yourself. A world where you have no money, no credit, no capos, and no friends. I’m going to leave you here with Silvio. I’m sure he has a lot of questions about the shipments you lost, the debts you owe, and the promises you couldn't keep."
"No!" Salvatore screamed, his body straining against the ropes. "Isabella, please! Don't leave me with them! They’ll kill me!"
"That's between you and the Valentis, Salvatore," I said, turning toward the exit. "After all, you always said that business should be kept separate from family. And tonight, we are no longer family."
But his cries were cut short as Silvio Valenti slowly picked up his knife from the floor, a cruel, vicious smile returning to his face as he stepped toward the tied man.
We stepped out of the warehouse and into the cool, damp night air. The river was calm, reflecting the distant lights of the Chicago skyline like a mirror of black glass.
Gianni looked at me, a deep respect in his eyes. "It's over, Izzy. The North Side is ours. The Moretti name is restored."
"Not yet, Gianni," I said, looking toward the city. "This was just the first move. The Valentis still think they can partition the territory. We need to show them that there is only one family that rules this city."
"And how do we do that?"
May you like
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a number.
"Agent Miller," I said when the call connected. "This is Isabella Moretti. I believe you have some cargo of mine. And I believe it’s time we discussed your retirement plan."
