Chapter 8 - The Viper Behind the Counter
Lorenzo’s grip on my hand remained steady, but the temperature in the room
plummeted.
"What did Philippe tell him?" Lorenzo asked.
His voice was smooth as polished glass, completely devoid of fear.
"Philippe gave Vance Clara's full legal name, social security number, and her
mother’s maiden address in upstate New York," Dante said, stepping closer to the
bed.
"Philippe also admitted that he saw Clara leave the restaurant with my security
detail."
"Vance knows you took her, Boss."
"Vance just called an emergency summit of the Five Families Commission at the
Plaza Hotel for noon today."
I pulled my hand back, panic flaring in my chest.
"The Plaza Hotel? That's right in the center of Manhattan!"
"It's neutral ground," Lorenzo explained calmly, sitting up despite the obvious
agony pulling across his stitched chest.
"The Commission was established sixty years ago by my grandfather."
"No blood can be spilled on neutral territory without an official vote from the
council heads."
He swung his long legs over the side of the bed.
"Lorenzo, you can't walk!" I protested, reaching out instinctively to support
his shoulder.
"You tore an artery less than eight hours ago!"
"If I do not show up at that summit, Vance will claim I am dead," Lorenzo said,
his jaw rigid.
"If the Commission believes the Don of the Moretti family is dead, Vance will
declare open season on our territory, our businesses, and everyone under our
protection."
He stood up, towering over me.
He swayed slightly for half a second before his iron will locked his spine
straight.
He looked down at me, his eyes blazing with an unyielding fire.
"And that means you and Leo."
Dante stepped forward, holding a fresh black dress shirt and a tailored dark
three-piece suit.
"What about Philippe, Boss?" Dante asked.
"Philippe Laurent is a coward who sold an innocent mother to wolves for thirty
pieces of silver," Lorenzo spat coldly.
"Bring him to the Plaza."
"Let the Commission see the kind of vermin Salvatore Vance relies on."
Two hours later, a motorcade of six armored vehicles rolled into Midtown
Manhattan.
The Plaza Hotel stood majestic against the gray afternoon sky, its gilded
entrance blocked by dozens of private security guards in dark suits.
Leo had been left at the Hudson fortress under the heavily armed protection of
Dr. Rossi and fifty loyal soldiers.
I had refused to stay behind.
"If my name is on that table," I had told Lorenzo before we left, "I want to
look the man who tried to kill my son in the eyes."
Lorenzo had stared at me for a long moment, then nodded.
“A lioness does not hide in the grass,” he had murmured.
Now, I walked beside him through the grand lobby of the Plaza.
Lorenzo wore an immaculate bespoke black suit that completely hid the bulky
bandages across his chest.
He walked without a limp, his head held high, radiating absolute dominance.
I walked by his right side, dressed in an elegant navy-blue silk dress provided
by his staff, my head held high despite the violent pounding of my heart.
We reached the Grand Ballroom.
Two armed guards pushed open the colossal double doors.
Inside sat a massive mahogany conference table.
Seated around it were four elderly men in expensive suits—the heads of the other
New York crime families.
At the far end of the table sat Salvatore Vance.
Salvatore was fifty-five, with slick gray hair, cruel sunken eyes, and heavy
gold rings on every finger.
Standing behind him, bruised and shivering like a wet rat, was Philippe Laurent.
When Lorenzo stepped through the doors, the room went dead silent.
Salvatore Vance’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
He gripped the arms of his leather chair, leaning forward.
"Moretti," Vance breathed, his voice thick with venom.
"My scouts told me you took a bullet to the heart."
Lorenzo didn't sit.
He walked slowly down the length of the table, his footsteps echoing like
thunder claps.
He stopped at the head of the table, resting his broad palms on the polished
wood.
"Your brother Christian had terrible aim, Salvatore," Lorenzo said, his voice
echoing through the vaulted ceiling.
"Just like he had terrible judgment."
Salvatore’s face turned purple with rage.
"You murdered my brother!" Vance roared, slamming his fist onto the table.
"Commission members! Look at this! Lorenzo Moretti executed Christian Vance in
cold blood over a common waitress!"
The four elderly bosses murmured among themselves, their expressions grave.
One of them, Don Carmine Falcone, raised a weathered hand.
"Lorenzo, is this true? Did you breach the peace over a civilian?"
Lorenzo gestured to Dante.
Dante stepped forward and threw a heavy leather folder onto the center of the
table.
Dante opened it, projecting high-resolution security photographs and medical
reports onto the room's main video display.
"Christian Vance broke the First Covenant," Lorenzo announced, his voice ringing
with absolute authority.
"He strapped duct tape across the mouth of a six-year-old child."
"He held a loaded gun to the boy's head."
"He attempted to extort Marcus Dawson’s debts from an innocent mother who works
sixty hours a week to buy inhalers."
The elderly dons leaned forward, examining the photographs of Leo’s bruised face
and the tape residue on his skin.
Don Falcone’s face darkened in profound disgust.
"We are men of honor," Falcone spat, glaring at Salvatore Vance.
"We do not wage war on children. We never have."
"She harbored Marcus's stolen funds!" Vance yelled desperately, pointing a
trembling finger at me.
"Philippe! Tell them! Tell them how much money she had!"
Philippe Laurent stumbled forward, his knees shaking so violently he had to lean
against the table.
He looked at me, then looked at Lorenzo, terror pouring from his pores.
"S-She... she took five thousand dollars from Mr. Moretti last night!" Philippe
stammered.
"She took a black card! She was conspiring with him!"
I stepped forward.
Every eye in the room turned to me.
I was just a server from Queens, but in that moment, standing beside Lorenzo, I
felt no fear.
"You fired me, Philippe," I said, my voice ringing clear and steady across the
room.
"You fired me because I served a hungry man on his birthday."
"You tried to steal the tip he left for my sick son."
"And then you sold my home address to a murderer for whatever scraps Salvatore
Vance promised you."
I looked Philippe directly in his bulging eyes.
"You are not a man. You are a parasite."
Philippe’s jaw trembled.
He couldn't meet my gaze.
Lorenzo stepped toward Philippe.
The entire room held its breath.
Philippe dropped to his knees, sobbing.
"Mr. Moretti, please! I didn't know! Vance threatened to burn the restaurant! I
have a family!"
Lorenzo looked down at him with pure disgust.
"You threw a wet man out into the rain because you thought he was beneath you,"
Lorenzo said softly.
"You mocked a mother trying to save her son."
Lorenzo pulled the matte-black lion card from his breast pocket and tossed it
onto the carpet in front of Philippe.
"Effective noon today, The Moretti Holdings Corporation has purchased The Gilded
Spoon, the building it sits in, and the land beneath it," Lorenzo declared.
Philippe froze, looking up in shock.
"You are fired, Philippe Laurent," Lorenzo whispered.
"Your assets are seized. Your restaurant career is finished."
"And if you ever set foot on Manhattan island again, my men will ensure you
never walk on two legs again."
Dante grabbed Philippe by the collar and dragged him out of the ballroom, his
pathetic screams echoing down the marble hallway.
Then, Lorenzo turned back to Salvatore Vance.
"Now, Salvatore," Lorenzo said, leaning across the table until their faces were
May you like
inches apart.
"Let us discuss the price for putting a gun to that boy's head."
