Chapter 13 - Masks at the Engagement Party|
Three days later, the rain had finally stopped over New Jersey, leaving the skies clear and bright over the Moretti estate.
The grand lawn was filled with white marquee tents, silver serving trays, and classical string quartets. Over two hundred high-society guests—judges, politicians, and Capos from the remaining four families—gathered to celebrate what had been advertised as Dante Moretti’s formal victory celebration following the peaceful restructuring of the maritime ports.
Dante stood on the elevated marble patio, holding a glass of aged prosecco.
Beside him stood his senior Capo, Santino Moretti—his late father’s younger cousin, a man who had served the family for over forty years. Santino was sixty-five, with slicked-back silver hair and a warm, grandfatherly smile that had fooled law enforcement for decades.
“A magnificent turnout, Dante,” Santino said smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “The families respect your leadership. You handled the Russo situation with remarkable discretion.”
“Discretion is the lifeblood of our survival, Uncle Santino,” Dante replied, his eyes scanning the crowd below.
“It’s a shame about young Isabella,” Santino sighed, shaking his head with fake sympathy. “To discover she was a Russo plant... it must have broken your heart.”
Dante turned his head slowly, looking directly into Santino’s dark eyes.
“My heart is intact, Uncle,” Dante said softly. “Because Isabella was simply a pawn.”
Santino’s smile remained fixed, but his knuckles tightened slightly around his champagne flute. “A pawn? What do you mean, my boy?”
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“A girl raised in Florence wouldn't know that my father built a secret drawer beneath the desk in 1973,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying pitch. “She wouldn't know that the stud was rough to the touch. Only three people alive knew about that mechanism. My father, myself... and you.”
The cheerful ambient sounds of the string quartet seemed to vanish from Santino’s ears.
