Chapter 7 - the tribunal at the manor
By Wednesday afternoon, the tension in Chicago’s underworld had reached a boiling point.
Marcus Valenti—the ruthless, fifty-year-old head of the Valenti crime family—had called for an emergency tribunal at the neutral territory of the Grand Regency Hotel, accusing Adrien Moretti of violating territory agreements on Fifth Street.
The hotel’s private ballroom was filled with twenty senior bosses and legal representatives from across the state.
Standing at the center of the room in his tailored beige suit was Adrien, flanked by Marcus and four armed guards. Sitting in the front row of the gallery, having refused to stay behind at the estate, was Claire, holding the hands of Lily, Sophie, and Emma.
Marcus Valenti stood at the speaker’s podium, his face flushed with rage as he pointed an accusing finger at Adrien.
“Adrien Moretti has brought a common woman and her illegitimate street brats into our territory!” Valenti shouted to the gathered bosses. “He assaulted my son Victor over a routine business fee! He is unfit to lead the Midwest alliance!”
Murmurs rippled through the older bosses.
Adrien didn't raise his voice. He walked calmly to the center of the floor, his posture broad, dark, and utterly unshakeable.
“My daughters are not street brats, Valenti,” Adrien said, his deep voice echoing through the silent ballroom like a thunderclap.
Suddenly, five-year-old Sophie stepped out from behind her mother’s dress. She walked confidently up the center aisle, holding her pink notebook in her small hands.
The gathered mob bosses stared in stunned silence as the tiny girl stopped right beside Adrien, looking up at Marcus Valenti with serious, observant blue eyes.
Sophie opened her notebook and spoke in a clear, loud voice. “Question for the mean man: Why did your son try to steal five hundred dollars from my mommy’s bakery when our daddy owns the whole street?”
Laughter erupted softly among several elder bosses in the back rows.
Marcus Valenti’s face turned bright red with pure humiliation. “Get that child out of here!”
Adrien stepped in front of his daughter, his towering frame blocking Valenti completely. His dark eyes burned with an icy, lethal fury.
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“You have your answer, Valenti,” Adrien said softly. “The Fifth Street territory belongs to Claire Bennett. If you ever speak her name again, this alliance ends today.”
Don Carmine stood up from the head table, striking his wooden gavel. “The tribunal recognizes the Moretti claim. The Fifth Street territory is protected under bloodline immunity. Case closed.”
