Chapter 9 - THE DONNA’S RETURN
The rain began again as we sped south on the Kennedy Expressway.
I sat in the passenger seat of Teresa’s armored Cadillac, holding my mother’s trust folder against my chest.
Behind us trailed six black Suburbans filled with thirty veteran enforcers from the old Valin crew.
Men who had retired ten years ago, now dressed in black wool coats, carrying automatic weapons beneath their arms.
The city of Chicago was waking up under a shroud of gray mist.
Commuter traffic was beginning to crawl along the highway, unaware that the underworld was holding its breath.
At Northwestern Memorial Hospital, the entire eighth-floor surgical pavilion had been locked down by private security.
When the elevator doors opened, forty armed men in dark suits turned toward the corridor.
Capos from the Moretti family.
Lieutenants from the South Side docks.
Men who had kissed Alessandro's ring for a decade.
Standing at the nurses' station was Don Carmine Moretti, Alessandro's uncle.
Eighty years old.
Leaning on an ivory cane, his face twisted in venomous arrogance.
Beside him stood three senior members of the Commission.
When they saw me step out of the elevator, conversation died instantly.
I was covered in soot.
My blouse was soaked in dried blood.
My hair was wild, curling around my shoulders in dark tangles.
And beside me walked Teresa Valin, her silver cane clicking against the linoleum like a metronome of death.
Don Carmine’s eyes widened in shock.
"Teresa...?" the old man stammered, clutching his cane.
"You're dead."
"I was resting, Carmine," Teresa said coldly.
"And while I was resting, you let your hyenas try to steal my niece's land."
Carmine bristled, his face turning purple with rage.
He pointed his cane at me.
"Sofia is no longer Donna Moretti!"
"She left the estate last night!"
"She removed her ring!"
"Under Commission law, she has forfeited all marital authority!"
"Alessandro is dying on that table, and as his legal next-of-kin, I am signing the power of attorney!"
Carmine reached toward a clipboard held by a trembling hospital administrator.
I moved before the old man’s fingers could touch the paper.
I didn't draw a gun.
I stepped into his space, my left hand snatching the clipboard from the administrator's hands.
With my right hand, I slammed the Valin trust folder directly onto Don Carmine’s chest.
The impact knocked the eighty-year-old man backward against the nurses' desk.
His ivory cane clattered across the floor.
"Read it, Carmine," I commanded.
My voice was not loud.
It was the voice of an empress sentencing a thief.
The three Commission elders leaned over the desk, their eyes scanning the unsealed documents.
They saw the municipal land grants.
They saw the deed transfers signed by Alessandro six months ago.
And they saw the signature of the Governor of Illinois, certifying the Valin trust as the sole legal owner of the Chicago riverfront.
"Alessandro doesn't own the docks, Carmine," I said, stepping closer until my face was inches from his.
"I own the docks."
"I own the warehouses."
"I own the ground your family’s mansions are built on."
"And if you don't step away from that surgical suite in three seconds,"
"I will evict every Moretti from this county before noon."
The three Commission elders looked at each other.
They looked at Teresa Valin standing behind me with thirty armed soldiers.
They looked at the blood on my hands.
Without a word, the three elders took two steps backward, bowing their heads in silent, total submission.
Don Carmine looked around the corridor.
He looked for his capos.
He looked for his guards.
Every single man in the hallway had lowered their eyes, resting their hands flat against their sides.
No one moved to help him.
"You're a monster, Sofia," Carmine hissed through his dentures.
"I am Donna Moretti," I said.
I turned to the lead surgeon standing behind the double glass doors of the operating room.
"Dr. Henderson."
"Yes, Donna Moretti?" the surgeon asked, his voice trembling.
May you like
"Cut the bullet out of my husband."
"And make sure he wakes up."
