Chapter 11 - THE COMMISSION'S DEMAND
The rain battered against the massive windows of the Moretti estate’s grand foyer.
Luca stood in the center of the room, flanked by ten of his most heavily armed men. I stood slightly behind him, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The heavy front doors swung open.
Three men walked into the foyer. They weren't wearing the flashy, tailored suits of the Chicago outfits. They wore long, dark wool coats, their expressions carved from stone.
At the center was an elderly man leaning on an ivory cane.
Silvio Romano. Caroline’s uncle. The current head of the New York Commission.
“Luca,” Silvio said, his voice raspy and dry, like old parchment. “It’s been too long.”
“Silvio,” Luca replied coldly, not offering his hand. “You’re a long way from home. Especially unannounced.”
Silvio smiled, a gesture that held absolutely no warmth.
“I heard about Marco’s treason. And Vanessa’s poison. You’ve had a difficult week, my boy. But I didn't come to offer condolences.”
His pale, milky eyes shifted past Luca, landing directly on me.
“I came for the girl.”
Luca subtly shifted his stance, blocking Silvio’s line of sight to me.
“Claire is under my protection,” Luca stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “She saved my daughter’s life. Nobody touches her.”
Silvio chuckled softly.
“Loyalty. A rare trait. But misguided in this instance.”
The old man tapped his cane on the marble floor.
“Twenty years ago, a woman named Margaret Sullivan stole fifty million dollars in bearer bonds from my brother, Vincenzo. We assumed she spent it and died. But yesterday, my accountants found a hidden safety deposit box in Geneva, registered under the name of her daughter.”
Silvio pointed a gnarled finger at me.
“Claire Sullivan. The box requires her fingerprint to open. She owes the Romano family fifty million dollars. Hand her over, Luca, and we will consider our families squared.”
I gasped, stepping back.
Fifty million dollars? In my name?
My mother hadn't given the money to the Romanos. She had stolen it from them, and hid it to ensure I would never be poor again.
“I don’t know anything about an account in Geneva,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Your ignorance doesn't erase the debt, child,” Silvio replied coldly. He looked at Luca. “Hand her over. Or the Commission will declare war on the Moretti family by midnight.”
The room went dead silent.
Luca’s men tightened their grips on their weapons. The New York soldiers rested their hands inside their coats.
One wrong word, and the foyer would become a slaughterhouse.
Luca looked at Silvio. He didn't blink. He didn't waver.
“My wife was a Romano,” Luca said softly. “She died because I was too blind to see the snakes in my own house. I will not make that mistake twice.”
He drew his pistol and aimed it directly at Silvio’s chest.
“Claire stays. Get off my property.”
Silvio’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure, venomous rage.
“You are choosing a maid over the peace of the Five Families, Luca? You will burn your empire to the ground for a girl?”
“She isn't just a maid,” Luca said, his voice echoing with absolute finality. “She is family.”
Silvio slowly nodded.
“Very well. Then you will all die.”
He turned to leave.
But as Silvio reached the door, Isabella stepped out from the hallway shadows.
She was holding a small, rolled-up canvas painting.
“Wait,” Isabella called out, her ten-year-old voice echoing in the massive room.
Silvio stopped, looking down at his great-niece with mild annoyance. “Go to your room, child.”
“Mommy painted this for you before she died,” Isabella said, holding the canvas out. “She said you were supposed to have it.”
Silvio frowned. He reached out and unrolled the canvas.
May you like
I watched the old man’s face.
The arrogant, terrifying boss of the New York Commission suddenly turned completely, deathly pale.
