Chapter 3 - The Treason Within
By dawn, Elena was resting safely under heavy guard in the VIP medical wing of the Moretti-owned St. Jude clinic, tended to by Dr. Russo himself. Lily was asleep in an adjoining suite, wrapped in a warm blanket while Maria Rossi—Dominic’s most lethal female operative, disguised in civilian clothes—kept watch over her with a bowl of oatmeal and a protective glare.
Dominic sat at the head of the mahogany conference table in his downtown penthouse headquarters. Standing before him were his four remaining senior capos.
The air in the room was thick with the smoke of imported cigars and suffocating tension.
"Somebody," Dominic began, his voice barely above a whisper, "unauthorizedly used my signature to fire an innocent woman named Elena Carter. Then, last night, professional thugs broke into her home and tried to silence her permanently."
Antonio "Tony the Rat" Vane, Dominic’s aging consigliere whose loyalty had always been measured in gold coins, shifted uneasily in his leather chair. He cleared his throat. "Dominic, with all due respect... we are in the middle of a multi-million-dollar acquisition of the Manhattan port logistics. Is a low-level data-entry clerk really worth calling an emergency council?"
Dominic turned his icy glare directly onto Antonio. The older man flinched, looking away.
"A low-level clerk," Dominic said slowly, standing up and leaning his knuckles against the table, "was ordered by someone in this organization to falsify shipping manifests for our port acquisition. When she refused, she was fired using my name. When she didn't shut up, someone sent muscle to kill her."
Dominic’s eyes swept across the faces of his men. "That means there is a cancer eating away at the head of the Moretti family. A traitor who thinks they can use my name to cover their own illegal drug smuggling through our legitimate docks."
Antonio’s son, Rico Vane—a hotheaded lieutenant sitting near the back—suddenly slammed his hand on the table. "You're accusing your own inner circle over a broad and a kid? That's insane, Dom! You're losing your edge because you're getting soft!"
The room went dead silent. Nobody interrupted Dominic Moretti. Nobody ever shouted at him.
Dominic didn't blink. He slowly drew his customized silver-plated pistol, walked around the table, and placed the barrel flat against the center of Rico Vane’s forehead.
Rico’s face drained of all color, sweat instantly beading on his upper lip.
"Say that again, Rico," Dominic whispered softly. "I didn't quite hear you over the sound of your own cowardice."
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"Easy, Boss," Antonio choked out, raising his hands trembling. "Rico is just... he’s stressed. We all are."
Dominic pulled the gun back slowly, holstering it with mechanical precision. "Find the traitor within forty-eight hours," Dominic ordered the room. "Or I will clear house myself, starting from the top down."
