Chapter 11
The morning sun washed over Seventy-Second Street, but the suffocating shadow that had hung over the Moretti estate for half a decade was entirely gone. Antonio sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, watching Mia attempt to feed her stuffed bear a piece of scrambled egg.
Elena stood nearby, holding a fresh pot of coffee, her expression a mix of lingering disbelief and cautious relief.
“You don’t have to stand, Elena,” Antonio said quietly, his voice lacking the ironclad frost it once carried. “Sit with us.”
Before Elena could reply, the heavy oak doors of the dining room swung open. Damen strode in, looking far more relaxed than he had in years. He dropped a thick dossier onto the corner of the table.
“The remaining captains from the Costa syndicate folded this morning,” Damen reported, pulling out a chair and sitting down without waiting for an invitation. “Without Franco funding their operations, they realized fighting a war against a fully unified Moretti family is a losing battle. They want peace negotiations by tomorrow night.”
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Antonio took a slow sip of his espresso, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell them the terms are unconditional surrender. Any territory they held in Red Hook and Queens reverts back to us, and their leadership steps down permanently.”
Damen smirked. “Consider it done. They won’t dare push back.”
