Chapter 7 - The Gathering Storm
Word Count: ~1,500 words
By 11:15 AM, the storm had cleared over the city, leaving the sky a pale, crisp blue.
Inside the grand Council Chamber at the Moretti estate, thirty high-ranking syndicate members, regional bosses, and family elders took their seats along the massive horseshoe-shaped mahogany table.
At the head of the room sat Maribel.
She wore a striking black silk suit, her hair styled impeccably, a triumphant, ruthless smile gracing her lips. Sitting beside her were three senior lieutenants from the North Docks—the men who had refused Leandro’s toast two nights ago.
Standing near the double doors was Marco, his face an emotionless mask, though his eyes darted nervously toward the antique grandfather clock ticking softly in the corner of the room: 11:40 AM.
Maribel leaned back in her high-backed chair—the very chair she had tried to drag Estelle out of—and picked up the golden gavel reserved for the Council Chairman.
“Gentlemen,” Maribel announced, her voice echoing with supreme confidence across the hall. “As you know, our Don, Leandro Moretti, has been absent from the estate since late last night. Reports indicate he fled upstate following a sudden... emotional breakdown regarding his mother’s declining health.”
A soft murmur swept through the council members.
“Under Article Nine of the Moretti Charter,” Maribel continued, raising her voice over the whispers, “if a Don fails to attend a mandatory financial review council without designated proxy, his executive voting rights are temporarily transferred to the senior matriarch faction.”
One of the older council members, Don Carmine—a gray-haired man who had served Leandro’s father for thirty years—frowned deeply.
“Leandro is a capable leader, Maribel,” Carmine said sternly. “We don't strip a Don of his proxy based on a few hours of absence. Where is Lady Estelle?”
Maribel put on a performance of tragic sorrow, shaking her head gently. “Regrettably, Estelle suffered a severe medical event last night. She remains unresponsive in her quarters under doctor’s care. She is in no condition to represent the bloodline.”
Carmine’s brow furrowed with suspicion, but without proof, he was bound by the strict laws of the charter.
Maribel tapped the golden gavel against the wooden block—CLACK!
“Therefore,” Maribel declared, her eyes flashing with cold triumph, “I motion that the Bahamas offshore accounts and the northern shipping routes be permanently reassigned to the Bellini lineage under my direct supervision. Do I have a second?”
“I second the motion,” the North Docks lieutenant announced immediately.
“The motion has been seconded,” Maribel said, a dark smirk spreading across her face. “We shall proceed to the vote. All those in favor—”
BANG!
The massive double mahogany doors of the Council Chamber were thrown open so violently that they slammed against the stone walls, echoing like a cannon shot through the hall!
Every head in the room spun around.
Standing in the doorway, drenched in rain, his suit jacket splattered with mud and gunpowder residue, was Leandro Moretti.
And walking right beside him, holding a thick, black leather ledger stamped with the golden seal of the Moretti bloodline, was Daphne.
The silence that fell over the Council Chamber was absolute.
Maribel’s golden gavel froze mid-air. Her face drained of all color, her jaw dropping as if she were looking at a ghost returned from the grave.
“You’re... you’re supposed to be—” Maribel stammered, her voice cracking violently.
“Dead?” Leandro interrupted, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate authority. His dark eyes locked onto Maribel with a lethal intensity that made the lieutenants beside her flinch. “I apologize for the delay, Aunt Maribel. The weather in upstate New York was rather dreadful today.”
Marco let out a long, silent breath of relief, stepping behind Leandro with his hands clasped behind his back, his posture instantly shifting to full military attention.
Don Carmine stood up from his chair, a rare smile breaking across his weathered face. “Don Leandro. You arrived just in time. Maribel was about to call a vote on your proxy.”
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“There will be no vote,” Leandro announced, his voice ringing out like iron through the chamber. He walked down the center aisle, stopping directly in front of the head table, looking down at Maribel with absolute disdain.
“Because a traitor has no standing to call a motion in this house.”
