Chapter 6 - The New Commission
Two weeks after the battle at the Red Hook Sugar Refinery, the five crime families of New York convened an emergency commission meeting in a private dining room above an upscale Italian restaurant in Midtown Manhattan.
The room was filled with old men in expensive suits—bosses who controlled the ports, the construction unions, the gambling dens, and the waste management contracts across three states.
They were terrified.
In fourteen days, Damian Conti had systematically dismantled every asset, every business, and every loyalist faction associated with the Moretti family. Sal Moretti was dead; his lieutenants were either in federal custody or had vanished into the deep waters of the Hudson; and Moretti’s former territories in Queens had been absorbed entirely into the Conti network.
The heavy oak doors opened.
Damian Conti walked into the room.
He was dressed in a pristine charcoal three-piece suit, his dark hair slicked back, his expression as cold and unreadable as marble. Walking half a step behind him was Nico Ricci, carrying a single leather briefcase.
The ten bosses around the table sat up straight, no one daring to speak as Damian walked to the head of the table and took his seat.
"Gentlemen," Damian said, his deep voice filling the silent room. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Old Boss Lucchesi—an eighty-year-old mafia patriarch from Brooklyn—cleared his throat nervously. "Damian... we heard about what happened in Red Hook. We heard about Moretti."
"Sal Moretti made a fatal mistake," Damian said flatly, resting his folded hands on the polished wood. "He believed that taking a woman and a child from my home was a strategic move. He was incorrect."
Lucchesi nodded slowly, his withered hands trembling slightly. "We understand, Damian. Moretti broke the ancient rule. Family is off-limits. But... there are rumors across the city. Rumors that you are changing the way the Conti family operates."
Damian leaned forward, his dark eyes sweeping over the faces of every man sitting at that table.
"They are not rumors, Joseph," Damian said clearly. "As of eight o'clock this morning, the Conti network is divesting entirely from narcotics, human trafficking, and protection rackets involving small local businesses."
A collective gasp echoed around the room.
"Are you insane, Conti?!" yelled Don Falcone, a fiery boss from Staten Island. "That's sixty percent of our revenue! You can't just shut down three major divisions because you had a religious experience!"
Damian didn't raise his voice. He simply looked at Falcone until the younger boss slowly sank back into his chair, sweating under Damian’s unrelenting gaze.
"I am not asking for your permission, Falcone," Damian said softly. "I am informing you of the new reality. My network will focus exclusively on commercial real estate, international maritime logistics, and green infrastructure energy contracts. Any boss who attempts to push narcotics or run protection rackets in territories under Conti protection will face the exact same fate as Sal Moretti."
He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.
"Nico will hand you the documents detailing the new territorial boundaries," Damian concluded. "If any of you have an objection to these terms, you are welcome to step out into the hallway and discuss it with me personally."
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Not a single man moved. Not a single voice was raised.
Damian turned and walked out of the room, leaving the old lords of New York to rewrite their laws in the shadow of his total victory.
