Chapter 6 - The Bloodline Cleansing
The gunshot echoed through the Crystal Ballroom like thunder!
Marco Moretti’s body crashed backward over his chair, striking the floor with a heavy, wet thud, blood pooling quickly over the polished parquet wood.
Shouts erupted! Underbosses reached for their weapons, chairs were shoved backward, and chaos threatened to consume the ballroom!
“HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!” Roman’s voice roared above the din, carrying an absolute command that froze every man in their tracks.
Roman’s four tactical operatives stepped forward, their submachine gun barrels aimed directly at the remaining Moretti captains.
Don Silvano sat frozen in his wheelchair, staring down at his grandson’s lifeless body, his old hands trembling on his lap. He did not cry. He did not scream. He was an old mobster who understood the brutal, unforgiving logic of the law he had lived by for seventy years.
“He acted without my authority, Roman,” Don Silvano rasped, his voice shaking with age and bitter grief. “He broke the law of the Commission.”
“He did,” Roman agreed coldly, reholstering his weapon without breaking eye contact with the old Don. “And his debt is paid.”
Roman turned his gaze slowly toward Julian Carter, who was cowering under the table, his suit soaked in sweat, his eyes wide with absolute terror.
Amelia walked slowly around the table until she stood directly over her uncle.
She reached down, grabbed him by his silk tie, and hauled him up until he was kneeling on the floor before her.
“Please, Amelia!” Julian wept frantically, tears streaming down his face. “I was forced into it! Marco threatened to kill my children if I didn't give him access to the shipping accounts! I didn't want you hurt! I told Garrett to keep you comfortable!”
Amelia leaned down until her face was inches from his.
“You gave me a thin blanket on a cold concrete floor, Uncle Julian,” she whispered, her voice dropping into a register that chilled the entire room. “You gave me three liters of water a day and empty tins of beans. You made me count seven hundred and thirty days on a stone wall.”
She let go of his tie, stepping back beside Roman.
“Take him,” Amelia ordered Roman’s men coldly. “Put him in the warehouse on the river. Give him one blanket, one pencil, and let him start carving his own marks on the wall.”
Roman’s operatives stepped forward, hauling the screaming, weeping Julian out of the ballroom through the rear service exit.
The remaining bosses sat in stunned, terrified silence. In ten minutes, Roman Duca and Amelia Carter had executed the heir of the Moretti family, dismantled the leadership of Carter Logistics, and reasserted total, undisputed dominance over the Midwest.
Roman looked across the table at the surviving council members.
“The Carter logistics network is now fully merged under the Duca estate,” Roman announced flatly. “Any captain who attempts to challenge Amelia’s authority over her father’s docks will be hunted down and executed alongside their families. Is there any objection?”
Silence answered him. Absolute, terrified silence.
Don Silvano slowly bowed his head. “No objection, Roman. May God have mercy on your enemies.”
May you like
Roman reached out, taking Amelia’s hand in his. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was firm, unyielding, and absolute.
“Let’s go home, Amelia,” Roman said softly.
