Chapter 13
The peace summit with the Costa captains took place at a neutral, upscale restaurant in downtown Manhattan. The atmosphere was thick with tension as the three remaining bosses sat across the private dining room, watching Antonio enter.
He didn’t bring an army of enforcers. He walked in flanked only by Damen, his posture relaxed yet radiating absolute authority.
“Antonio,” Vincent Costa, the eldest of the remaining faction leaders, spoke up first, his voice tight. “We received your terms.”
Antonio took a seat at the center of the table, resting his hands flat on the linen tablecloth. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to.
“Then you know they are non-negotiable,” Antonio replied evenly. “You tried to exploit a perceived weakness, and you lost. The Moretti family controls the docks from Brooklyn to the Hudson now.”
“And if we refuse?” another captain challenged, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for a glass of water.
“You won’t,” Antonio said softly, leaning forward. “Because unlike Franco, I don't wage war out of greed or malice. I wage it to protect what is mine. Step down, surrender your assets, and your families live out their lives in peace. Choose otherwise, and there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”
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The silence in the room was deafening. One by one, the Costa captains lowered their gazes, realizing the man sitting before them was more dangerous, and more untouchable, than he had ever been before.
Vincent signed the transfer papers with a shaking hand. The war was officially over.
