Chapter 9 - The Purge of the Traitors
The atmosphere inside the room turned arctic. The mockery that had greeted Dante’s entrance was entirely eradicated, replaced by an overwhelming sense of awe and dread.
Don Carlotti looked at Dante with newfound respect. “How did you find this out, Moretti? Our own intelligence networks didn't pick up a whisper of Romano’s federal deals.”
“A four-year-old girl in a lemon-yellow dress picked up the trail,” Dante answered coldly, standing up to tower over the trembling, restrained traitor. “She noticed the bug that four armed bodyguards missed. And while you all laughed when I brought her box into this room, her innocence exposed the rat who was about to send you all to federal prison.”
Victor fell to his knees on the hardwood floor, tears of terror streaming down his cheeks. The arrogance was completely shattered. “Dante... please! For your father’s sake! We were brothers! I did it because the feds had me cornered! They threatened to freeze everything!”
“My father died believing you were a brother,” Dante said, his voice devoid of pity. “You murdered Jorge Castellanos, an honest working father, to hide your greed. You tried to execute me on these stairs today. You traded thirty years of brotherhood for a federal plea deal.”
Dante signaled to Marco. “Take him to the Queens docks. Turn him over to Jorge’s union brothers. Let them decide what justice looks like for the man who cut the cable.”
Victor shrieked and begged, but his cries were quickly muffled as Marco’s men dragged him backward down the rear stairs of the restaurant.
Within thirty minutes, the remaining leaders of the Five Families signed a historic, unified pact. Dante Moretti was officially recognized as the Chairman of the New York Commission, his position undisputed, his reputation elevated to legendary status. He had not only protected his family from annihilation; he had completely dismantled a nationwide conspiracy without firing a single bullet in the streets.
As Dante walked down the front steps of Il Mulino Antico, the autumn rain had finally stopped, replaced by golden shafts of midday sunlight breaking through the clouds. The mocking whispers of the rival bodyguards on the sidewalk had transformed into silent, reverent bows as Dante passed by, carrying the white shoebox securely under his arm.
May you like
He climbed into the back of his vehicle, pulling out his phone.
“Marco,” Dante said over the line. “Send the company lawyers to the Brooklyn registry office. I have a transfer of ownership that needs to be finalized before evening.”
