Chapter 6 - The Oyster Bay Estate
The main Moretti estate in Oyster Bay, Long Island, looked like something out of a European Gothic novel. Set behind twenty-foot wrought-iron gates adorned with the serpent crest, the sprawling stone mansion sat on a high bluff overlooking the dark, churning waters of the Long Island Sound.
A convoy of six black Mercedes-Benz sedans rolled through the gates at nine o'clock in the morning.
Inside the lead vehicle sat Dante, Caterina, and Elena. Mia was back at the Westchester safehouse under the guard of Dante’s most trusted captain—Elena had flatly refused to bring her daughter into the literal lion’s den, and even Dante hadn't argued with that.
As the car pulled up to the grand double doors of the mansion, Elena took a deep breath, smoothing down her navy blue wool coat. She looked like a professional consultant, calm and composed, though her palms were slick with nervous sweat.
“Remember,” Caterina murmured, resting her gloved hand over Elena’s. “You don't have to say a word. Just stand beside Dante and let the wolves tear each other apart.”
The heavy oak doors opened, revealing a cavernous marble foyer lit by a massive crystal chandelier.
Waiting for them at the base of the grand staircase was Uncle Victor Moretti.
Victor was in his late fifties, dressed in a pristine Italian suit with a silk pocket square. He had thinning silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a smile that didn't reach his cold, predatory eyes. Flanking him were six armed enforcers, led by Paulie Vance, who gave Elena a slow, sickeningly polite nod as she walked through the doors.
“Well, well,” Victor said, his voice echoing off the marble walls. “Look who decided to crawl out of the woodwork. Mother, I thought we agreed that family council meetings were for blood relatives, not stray dogs picked up off the Manhattan pavement.”
Caterina didn't flinch. She leaned heavily on her cane, her slate-gray eyes locking onto her son with pure, unadulterated venom.
“Watch your mouth, Victor,” Caterina snapped. “You’re standing in my house, breathing my air, using money I helped launder before you were even shaving.”
Victor’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, turning his attention to Dante.
“Dante,” Victor purred, spreading his arms wide. “You’ve brought a cleaning lady to a corporate coup? How touching. Did you hire her to mop up the mess after we vote you and your senile grandmother out of the syndicate?”
“The only mess that’s going to be cleaned up today, Uncle,” Dante said, his voice completely level, “is the garbage piling up in our financial books.”
“Brave words for a boy who’s about to lose everything,” Victor sneered. He signaled to his men, and two guards stepped forward, blocking the arched doorway leading into the grand dining room where the rest of the family captains were already seated.
“No outsiders in the council room,” Victor declared, pointing a finger at Elena. “She stays here.”
“She goes where I go,” Dante replied, his hand sliding smoothly inside his jacket.
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Before a gun could be drawn, a sharp, clear voice rang out from the top of the grand staircase.
“Let them in, Victor. Or are you afraid of a hotel maid?”
