Chapter 5 - The Snake Shows His Fangs
By Wednesday evening, the eve of the rescheduled summit, the tension in the Moretti household was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Victor Romano arrived at the mansion at 6:00 p.m., carrying his leather briefcase and exuding an air of false confidence. He believed he held all the cards. As he stepped into the foyer, his eyes scanned the grand staircase, where Elena was quietly polishing the brass banister.
Victor sneered, glancing dismissively at the maid. “Dante keeps too many strays around this place,” he muttered under his breath to his personal bodyguard, Enzo. “Tomorrow night, we clean out the domestic staff along with the garbage.”
Elena kept her head lowered, but her heart hammered violently against her ribs. She recognized the cold malice in his voice—it was the exact same voice she had heard in her nightmares, the voice of the men who had discarded Jorge’s life like scrap metal on the docks.
In the upper study, Dante greeted Victor with a warm, deceptive embrace. “Victor. Everything is set for tomorrow at Mott Street?”
“All five families have confirmed, Dante,” Victor said, sitting down and accepting a glass of vintage bourbon. “Chicago was irritated by the delay, but I smoothed things over. They are ready to sign the new territorial boundaries. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll personally escort your convoy to Little Italy.”
“You’ve always been my father’s most loyal brother, Victor,” Dante remarked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass while gazing into the fireplace. “He told me on his deathbed that a man who guards your back for twenty years is worth more than ten thousand soldiers.”
Victor’s hand tightened slightly on his glass, a flicker of guilt quickly drowned out by ambition. “Your father was a visionary, Dante. And I intend to make sure his legacy endures. Tomorrow will be a historic day for the Moretti name.”
“Indeed it will,” Dante replied smoothly. “A day none of us will ever forget.”
As Victor stood to leave, the study door creaked open. Lily wandered into the doorway, clutching her white shoebox under one arm and a blue crayon in the other.
Victor frowned, his eyebrows knitting in disgust. “What is this child doing running around your private quarters, Dante? This isn't a daycare. You’re becoming soft. Your father would have fired the maid on the spot.”
Lily stopped, staring directly at Victor’s wrist, where the silver watch glinted under the chandelier. Without blinking, she raised her blue crayon and pointed it straight at his chest.
“You’re the man who feeds the clock,” she said clearly, her small voice cutting through the heavy room.
May you like
Victor froze. The glass of bourbon nearly slipped from his fingers. The room went dead silent.
“What did she just say?” Victor asked, his voice suddenly sharp, a dangerous edge creeping into his demeanor as he stepped toward the little girl. “What is this kid talking about?”
