Chapter 11 - shifting power
The battle for the Moretti estate turned swiftly and brutally.
Victor and Marco moved through the lower levels like ghosts, engaging Sal Moretti's mercenaries with disciplined, tactical force. With the mansion's internal security grid back under Marco's control, Victor used the automated lockdown shutters to trap Sal’s men in the main foyer.
Within fifteen minutes, the gunfight was over. Twelve of Sal’s men were disarmed and forced to their knees on the marble floor of the grand hall.
Victor stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the foyer, his heavy coat draped over his shoulders, his pistol resting in his hand.
At the center of the room, held at gunpoint by two Moretti guards, was Don Sal Moretti himself. Sal’s expensive leather coat was splattered with mud, his nose bleeding from the breach.
Sal looked up at Victor, sneering bitterly. "Shoot me then, Victor! Do it! But my syndicate will tear your docks to ground tomorrow!"
Victor walked slowly down the grand staircase, his polished shoes crunching over shattered glass. He stopped three feet from Sal.
"Your syndicate is already gone, Sal," Victor said quietly.
He gestured to the large widescreen monitor on the foyer wall. Marco pressed a button, displaying a live video feed from the Brooklyn docks.
On the screen, forty of Victor’s armored tactical units were currently occupying Sal’s primary distribution warehouse. Sal’s capos were shown being loaded into police vans, flanked by federal agents.
Sal’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "How... how did you get federal warrants?"
"Celeste," Victor replied calmly. "Before we locked her in the cellar, she handed over your private offshore financial ledgers in exchange for a deal with the U.S. Attorney."
Sal slumped forward, his knees hitting the floor as his entire criminal empire crumbled in seconds.
"Take him away," Victor ordered his men. "Hand him over to the feds."
As the guards dragged Sal out into the rain, Marco walked up to Victor, holding a sleek silver briefcase recovered from Julian’s car outside.
"Boss, we found Julian’s master files," Marco said. "He was planning to liquidate the entire family trust tonight at midnight."
Victor opened the briefcase. Inside was a satellite laptop connected to an active wire transfer screen.
Victor looked at the screen, his eyes narrowing as he read the recipient account name: THE MORETTI FOUNDATION — ZURICH, SWITZERLAND.
"Check the primary account holder, Marco," Victor commanded.
May you like
Marco typed into the terminal. The screen flashed green, revealing the primary holder's name.
Victor’s heart skipped a beat. The account belonged to his father, Don Carmine Moretti—a man who had been dead for ten years.
