Chapter 7 - The Echo in Dock 42
At 11:45 PM, heavy rain lashed against the windows of the grand dining hall on the first floor.
A massive mahogany conference table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs. Sitting around the table were five senior lieutenants of the Chicago Moretti Syndicate—veteran mob bosses in dark suits who governed the city’s various territories.
At the far end of the table sat Counselor Anthony Vance. Fifty-two years old, with silvering hair, thin gold-rimmed glasses, and a sharp charcoal three-piece suit, Anthony looked more like a corporate CEO than a mafia consigliere. He sat calmly, sipping a glass of sparkling water, adjusting a heavy gold signet ring on his right hand.
The heavy double doors swung open, and Vincent Moretti entered the room.
The five lieutenants stood up immediately out of respect. Anthony stood up a second later, offering a warm, professional smile.
"Vincent," Anthony said smoothly, his voice polished and reassuring. "We came as soon as Marco called. We heard there was a minor security breach on the perimeter tonight. Are you unharmed?"
Vincent walked slowly to the head of the table. He did not sit down. Standing at his full height, his broad frame casting a shadow over the polished wood, he placed his broad hands flat on the table.
"The breach wasn't minor, Anthony," Vincent said, his voice quiet, low, and terrifyingly calm. "Four mercenaries armed with suppressed automatics entered my private study. They came to assassinate my guests."
Anthony feigned deep concern, adjusting his gold glasses. "Shocking... truly appalling. Do we know who authorized such an outrage? Was it the Falco family?"
"It was the Falco family," Vincent agreed, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Anthony's face like steel clamps. "bargaining with an insider who provided the master security override codes for my north gate."
One of the senior lieutenants, a grizzled veteran named Sal, slammed his fist onto the table. "An insider? Who would dare betray the Don in his own house?"
Vincent reached into his black suit jacket. He pulled out the worn copy of The Golden Lion and laid it gently in the center of the mahogany table.
Anthony’s eyes flicked down to the small children's book. For a microsecond, the silver-haired counselor’s calm composure cracked, a subtle twitch appearing at the corner of his left eye.
"Seven years ago," Vincent spoke softly, his voice filling every corner of the silent hall, "my brother Gabriel vanished at Dock 42. We believed he was murdered by rivals. But Gabriel left behind a diary... and a financial cipher."
Vincent tapped the cover of the book with his calloused index finger. "A cipher detailing forty million dollars in illegal weapons sales to the Falco family, funneled through Account 409."
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Anthony swallowed hard, his face losing a fraction of its color, though he forced a light chuckle. "Vincent... surely you aren't suggesting that old children's toy contains legitimate evidence? Account 409 is an administrative fund—"
"Account 409 was used yesterday to pay off a landlord in Indiana to evict Gabriel’s widow and seven-year-old daughter," Vincent interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into pure, lethal steel. "The same daughter who was sitting in my study tonight when your mercenaries opened fire."
