Chapter 10 - THE COMMISSION AND THE EMPTY SEAT
The sun was just beginning to rise over the Chicago skyline, casting a bloody, golden hue across the glass skyscrapers, as our convoy of black SUVs pulled through the shattered front gates of the Moretti estate.
The mansion looked like a war zone.
The manicured lawns were torn to shreds by tire tracks. The massive front doors hung off their hinges. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter with a nervous, exhausted energy.
Marco was waiting for us on the front steps, his suit stained with soot and blood, a heavy assault rifle slung across his chest.
When he saw me step out of the SUV, followed closely by my father, Thomas, Marco’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. He had known my father for years as the quiet maintenance man. To see him alive, holding a shotgun, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the boss, completely shattered the enforcer’s stoic facade.
“Thomas?” Marco breathed, lowering his weapon.
“Hello, Marco,” my father said quietly, offering a grim, tired nod.
But it was the woman who stepped out of the SUV next that made the entire security detail freeze.
Clara Moretti.
She looked exactly like the paintings of her mother that hung in the grand hallways. The sister the entire syndicate had mourned for two decades had returned from the grave.
Several of the older guards literally dropped to their knees, crossing themselves, believing they were seeing a ghost.
Luca didn't give them time to process the shock. He marched up the steps, his authority radiating like a physical force.
“Marco,” Luca commanded, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. “Status of the house.”
Marco snapped back to reality, standing at attention. “The estate is secure, Boss. The Bellini enforcers are dead or in custody. The hostages were evacuated safely.”
“And Lorenzo Santoro?” Luca asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
Marco frowned slightly. “Santoro is in the main study, Boss. He refused medical treatment. He said he wanted to wait here to advise you on how to handle the fallout with the commission this morning.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. The audacity of the man was staggering. Lorenzo had orchestrated the entire attack, tried to have us slaughtered in Michigan, and was now sitting in Luca’s study, playing the role of the loyal, grieving advisor.
“Perfect,” Luca said coldly.
He turned to my father, Clara, and me.
“Wait in the drawing room,” Luca ordered us. “Do not let him see you yet.”
“Luca, I’m coming with you,” my father insisted, gripping his shotgun. “He tried to kill my family.”
“And he will answer for it,” Luca promised, resting a hand on my father’s shoulder. “But if we execute him without a trial, the commission will brand me a rogue boss and start a civil war. I need to expose him publicly. Trust me.”
My father hesitated, looking at the burning determination in Luca’s eyes, and finally nodded. He ushered Clara and me into the side drawing room, closing the heavy mahogany doors behind us.
I pressed my ear against the thick wood, my heart hammering in my chest, listening as Luca’s heavy footsteps walked down the hall toward the main study.
Click.
The study door opened.
“Luca, thank God,” Lorenzo’s smooth, cultured voice drifted down the hallway. He sounded perfectly distressed, the performance flawless. “I was terrified when I heard the explosion in Michigan. Did you find your sister?”
“No,” Luca lied smoothly, his voice devoid of any emotion. “The cabin was empty. They were gone.”
I heard Lorenzo let out a long, heavy sigh of faked relief.
“It’s a tragedy, Luca,” Lorenzo said softly. “But perhaps it’s for the best. If she is alive, bringing her back into this life would only put a target on her back again. You must focus on the immediate threat. Richard Bellini’s attack last night has destabilized the entire city.”
“I agree,” Luca said calmly. “Which is why I’ve called an emergency meeting of the Commission.”
There was a slight pause.
“The Commission?” Lorenzo asked, a flicker of surprise in his tone. “Luca, are you sure that’s wise? The Five Families will want blood for the hostage situation. They might demand you step down for allowing the estate to be breached.”
“I am the head of the Moretti family,” Luca stated firmly. “I will not step down. I will present my evidence against Bellini, and they will vote to dismantle his syndicate.”
“Of course, my boy,” Lorenzo agreed soothingly. “I will stand by your side, just as I stood by your father’s. We will weather this storm together.”
I felt physically sick listening to the man’s lies. He was planning to use the Commission meeting to usurp Luca’s power entirely.
An hour later, the grand banquet hall—the same room that had been a hostage nightmare hours ago—was transformed into a terrifying court of law.
The shattered glass had been swept away, the overturned tables righted. Sitting around the massive mahogany table were the heads of the Five Families of Chicago. They were older, ruthless men in tailored suits, flanked by heavily armed bodyguards.
Luca sat at the head of the table. Lorenzo sat directly to his right, playing the role of the loyal consigliere.
I stood in the shadows behind the velvet curtains of the servant’s entrance, watching through a small crack, my father and Clara standing tensely beside me.
“This meeting is called to order,” Luca announced, his voice echoing in the vast, silent room.
The head of the Romano family, a scarred man in his sixties, leaned forward.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Luca,” Romano growled. “Bellini’s men held a federal judge hostage in this very room last night. You’ve brought the FBI to our doorstep. That’s bad for business.”
“Richard Bellini acted unilaterally,” Luca said calmly. “He attempted a hostile takeover of the Moretti empire to cover up his own embezzlement and treason.”
“Treason?” another boss asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nineteen years ago, Richard Bellini set the factory fire that nearly killed me and my sister,” Luca revealed, his voice steady.
A murmur of shock rippled through the bosses.
Lorenzo Santoro placed a comforting hand on Luca’s arm, projecting sympathy to the room. “It is a painful truth we discovered last night, gentlemen. Richard must be punished severely for his crimes against the Moretti bloodline.”
“And he will be,” Luca agreed softly.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the yellowed bank transfer document we had found in the wooden box in Michigan. He placed it face-down on the table.
“But Richard Bellini didn't act alone,” Luca said, his eyes scanning the faces of the Five Families. “He was paid to set the fire. He was paid to murder my sister.”
The room went dead silent.
“Who paid him?” Romano demanded.
Luca didn't answer immediately. He looked to his right, locking eyes with Lorenzo Santoro.
“Lorenzo,” Luca said quietly. “You were my father’s closest friend. You held me at my sister’s funeral. You stood by me when I took the oath.”
Lorenzo smiled, a paternal, comforting expression. “Always, Luca.”
“Then why,” Luca asked, his voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating whisper, “does this bank transfer authorize a payment of two million dollars from your personal offshore account to Richard Bellini, three days before the fire?”
Lorenzo’s smile froze.
The color completely drained from his face.
Luca flipped the document over and slid it down the table for the Five Families to see.
“He paid Bellini to murder me and my sister to wipe out the heirs,” Luca declared to the stunned room. “And when the fire failed to kill me, he spent the last nineteen years playing the loyal friend, waiting for the perfect moment to take the throne.”
Lorenzo stood up so fast his chair crashed backward onto the marble floor.
“It’s a forgery!” Lorenzo shouted, his cultured facade crumbling into sheer, desperate panic. “Bellini forged it to frame me! Luca, you can't believe this! I loved your father!”
“You murdered his daughter,” Luca snarled, standing up, towering over the older man.
“She died in a tragic accident!” Lorenzo screamed, sweat pouring down his face. “You have no proof I orchestrated it! You have a piece of paper!”
Luca stared at him, his dark eyes filled with absolute, unadulterated vengeance.
“I don't just have a piece of paper, Lorenzo,” Luca said softly.
He looked toward the velvet curtains where we were hiding.
“I have a witness.”
Luca nodded.
I pushed the heavy velvet curtains open.
May you like
My father stepped out into the banquet hall, his head held high, looking directly at the man who had tried to murder him nineteen years ago.
And right beside him, walking into the light for the first time in two decades, was Clara Moretti.
