Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Moretti Family
The heavy double doors of the study opened five minutes later, admitting a storm of rustling silk and cold fury.
Vivien Moretti swept into the room, her ivory wedding gown trailing behind her like a shroud. Her dark hair had lost a few pearl pins, leaving soft strands framing a face that was flushed red with humiliation and anger.
Behind her, Vincent closed the doors and slid the heavy brass bolt into place.
"This is an outrage, Lorenzo!" Vivien spat, her polished voice rising into the high rafters of the study. "You left me standing at the altar like a fool! My father is ready to tear this estate apart! Over what? A filthy street brat who snuck past your security with some insane story?"
Lorenzo did not move from where he stood beside his desk. He leaned back against the dark wood, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression impassive.
"Sit down, Vivien," he said smoothly.
"I will not sit down!" she snapped, stepping closer, her heels clicking violently on the Persian rug. "We were supposed to be married twenty minutes ago! The alliance between our families—"
"The alliance died four years ago," Lorenzo interrupted. His tone was conversational, almost gentle. "May fourteenth. In a cabin in Wisconsin."
Vivien froze mid-stride.
The color drained from her face so fast it looked as if a frost had touched her skin. The furious spark in her eyes flickered, replaced by a dark, sudden caution.
"What are you talking about?" she whispered.
Lorenzo picked up the Polaroid from the blotter and held it out, face up.
Vivien looked at the image of herself standing beside Marcus Bennett. Her throat moved in a hard, visible swallow. "I... I don't know him. I meet hundreds of people, Lorenzo. You know how many accountants and contractors my father employs—"
"Flip it over," Lorenzo commanded.
Vivien’s hand trembled as she reached out. Her fingers brushed the edge of the photograph, but she didn't pick it up. She didn't need to. She knew what was written on the back.
"Marcus Bennett was a good man," Lorenzo said, stepping toward her. He towered over her, his presence compressing the room until the air felt thin. "He kept your father's books. And when he stumbled upon the off-shore account you opened to pay the hitman who wired my father's cabin... you had him executed in front of his seven-year-old child."
"It's a lie!" Vivien shrieked, backing away until her heels struck the base of a bookshelf. "My father ordered that hit! Not me! Don Antonio wanted Vito dead so we could take the riverfront docks! I had nothing to do with it!"
In the corner of the room, behind the wide mahogany desk, Sophia watched through the open gap in Lorenzo’s leather jacket, her eyes wide.
"You just confessed to the conspiracy, Vivien," Vincent said softly from the door, pulling a small digital recorder from his pocket and clicking the off button. "On Duca soil. In front of three witnesses."
Vivien turned her head slowly toward the consigliere, her mouth open in horror. "You... you trapped me."
"You trapped yourself four years ago," Lorenzo said. He walked to the window, looking out into the twilight where the remaining guests were disappearing into the Chicago fog. "You thought marrying me would seal the secret forever. You thought if you became the Don's wife, no one would ever dare look into your past."
"Lorenzo, please," Vivien whimpered, dropping the arrogant facade instantly. She fell to her knees, the white silk of her dress fanning out over the dark rug like a wounded bird's wings. She reached out, grasping the hem of his trousers. "I loved you! I did it for us! My father was weak—he was going to destroy both our families with his foolish wars! I cleared the way for you to take total control of the city!"
Lorenzo looked down at her. There was no hatred in his gray eyes. No fire. Just a vast, terrible emptiness that scared her far more than anger ever could.
"You didn't do it for me," Lorenzo said, pulling his hem from her grip. "You did it for power. And you killed a father in front of his child."
He looked at Vincent. "Put her in the sub-cellar. Don't touch her. Don't speak to her. I want Don Antonio brought to the estate within the hour."
"And if Antonio refuses to come?" Vincent asked.
May you like
Lorenzo walked back to his desk, picking up a heavy silver pen and signing a single order on his official letterhead.
"Tell him," Lorenzo said, "that if he isn't here in sixty minutes, I will release Marcus Bennett's ledger to the Federal Prosecutor and every capo in the Five Families simultaneously."
