Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the Moretti Family
The Moretti estate in Long Island was protected by high iron gates, security cameras, and half a dozen guards carrying concealed submachine guns beneath their leather jackets. To the outside world, Arthur Moretti was a retired shipping magnate who donated heavily to catholic charities. To us, he was an old snake who had survived forty years in the syndicate by shedding his skin whenever the heat got too intense.
My black Lincoln pulled up to the main gate at eight o'clock that evening. Two guards stepped out of the gatehouse, their hands resting ominously inside their coats.
Tony rolled down the driver's window. "Tell Arthur that Don Sal is here."
The guards hesitated, recognizing my face in the back seat through the tinted glass. One of them spoke quickly into a walkie-talkie, nodded, and hit the button to open the gates.
We pulled up the long, winding gravel driveway toward a massive stone mansion illuminated by golden exterior spotlights. I stepped out of the car, adjusting my cuffs. Bruno jumped out after me, his nose sniffing the crisp night air, his ears alert.
Arthur Moretti was waiting for me in his ground-floor cigar lounge. He was sixty-five years old, with thin white hair, immaculate silk suits, and a polished smile that never reached his pale blue eyes. He was sitting in a leather armchair, a glass of thirty-year-old scotch resting on the small table beside him.
"Sal," Arthur said smoothly, rising to offer his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure of an unannounced visit? You brought your beast, I see."
I ignored his outstretched hand and sat down in the armchair opposite him. Bruno took a position right beside my left leg, his tail motionless, his gaze fixed on Arthur’s throat.
"We have a problem, Arthur," I said quietly.
Arthur slowly lowered his hand, his smile diminishing slightly. He took a sip of his scotch. "Do we? I thought our borders were clean. The dock operations have been peaceful."
"Marco Ricci is sitting in a basement in South Manhattan right now," I said.
Arthur didn't flinch. Not a single muscle in his face moved. He was a master of poker faces, trained over decades of betrayals. "Is he? Why tell me about your underboss's whereabouts?"
"Because his phone had your personal private number saved on it," I said, lying effortlessly to gauge his reaction. "And because fifty thousand dollars was wired from your New Jersey account to a offshore account in Marco's name yesterday morning."
Arthur set his glass down on the table with a soft clink. "Sal, Marco is an ambitious man. Ambitious men often try to sell information to the highest bidder. If he approached my people, it was purely a business inquiry. I didn't hire him."
"He ran down a seven-year-old girl three days ago," I said, my voice dropping so low it was almost a whisper. "Elena Vasquez. The daughter of a restaurant owner on 104th Street."
Arthur raised his eyebrows, pretending to be mildly surprised. "A tragedy, truly. But what does a traffic accident have to do with me?"
"You wanted the waterfront land," I said. "You used Marco to force the local business owners out so you could set up a narcotics line into Queens. Because of your greed, my underboss lost his mind, drove like a maniac, and killed a child."
Arthur leaned back in his chair, his expression turning cold and dismissive. "Sal, you are getting old. You are letting emotion cloud your judgment. In this life, people get hurt. Business moves forward. If Marco made a mess in Queens, clean it up yourself. Don't come into my home throwing accusations about a tragic street accident."
Bruno let out a sharp, bone-chilling bark.
The sound shattered the calm of the room. Two of Arthur’s bodyguards immediately drew their pistols from their shoulder holsters.
In less than a second, Tony had his weapon drawn, pointing it directly at Arthur’s head. Outside the room, three more of my men burst through the French doors, weapons raised.
Arthur’s bodyguards froze, caught in a deadly crossfire.
"You brought guns into my house, Sal?" Arthur asked, his voice shaking with a mixture of anger and sudden fear.
"I didn't bring guns to start a war, Arthur," I said, standing up slowly. "I came here to give you a warning. You touched my territory. You corrupted my underboss. And a child died because of your operation."
I leaned over his desk, looking him dead in the eye. "Every piece of land you own in Queens is surrendered to the Vasquez family by tomorrow morning. Every dollar you put into the waterfront project will be transferred to a trust fund for Elena’s family."
"And if I refuse?" Arthur sneered.
"Then the peace treaty is over," I said softly. "And I won't send my men. I will send Bruno."
As if understanding his name, the massive dog took a step forward, his jaw snapping shut with a crack that sounded like a gunshot.
May you like
Arthur looked at the dog, then at Tony’s unflinching barrel, and finally at me. He swallowed his pride, realizing he had been cornered in his own sanctuary. "Fine. The Queens land is yours. Take it and get out of my sight."
"Wise choice," I said. "Goodnight, Arthur."
