Chapter 6 - The Verdict of Iron
Joseph Lucchesi forced his expression back into a mask of composure, though a bead of sweat slowly rolled down his temple.
"Rocco," Lucchesi said, his voice slightly higher in pitch than usual. "This is... unexpected. We were told by your nephew that you were severely ill. Bedridden. Unfit to lead."
"My nephew," Rocco said, gesturing toward Vincent, who was shoved onto his knees in the middle of the room by Marco, "is a traitor. And a fool."
Marco reached down and ripped the heavy black tape off Vincent’s mouth.
Vincent immediately sobbed, throwing himself toward Lucchesi's side of the table. "Joseph! Joseph, help me! They know! They found Voss's ledger! They know about the Cayman accounts!"
"Shut your mouth, you pathetic dog!" Lucchesi hissed, backing his chair away from Vincent as if his former co-conspirator were contagious.
Rocco looked at Santino. "Counselor. Present the evidence."
Santino stepped forward, opening his briefcase and laying thick stacks of bound documents in front of every family boss seated at the table.
"Gentlemen," Santino announced, his voice ringing through the room. "These are certified forensic audits, toxicology reports, and bank transfers detailing a six-month conspiracy orchestrated by Joseph Lucchesi and Vincent Moretti to systematically poison Chairman Rocco Bellavita using a banned neuromuscular toxin."
The room erupted into loud gasps and angry mutters.
"Poison?" Mateo Rossi growled, glaring at Lucchesi with disgust. "We have rules against poison! We are men of honor, not back-alley assassins!"
"That's not all," Santino continued, holding up the red leather ledger. "This is the private confession and ledger of Dr. Elias Voss. It details the deliberate murder of Aldo Moretti, Frankie Lucchesi, and five senior union representatives over the last eighteen months—all ordered by Joseph Lucchesi to consolidate his control over the docks."
Frank "The Hammer" Valenti stood up, slamming his heavy fist onto the table, his face turning purple with rage. "Frankie was my cousin, Lucchesi! You told us he died of a stroke!"
"It's a lie!" Lucchesi shouted, standing up and backing toward his bodyguards. "This is a setup! Bellavita manufactured these documents to wipe out my family and take over my shipping terminals!"
"Is it a lie, Joseph?" Rocco asked softly.
Rocco reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and pressed play on a recorded audio file—the direct recording of Vincent’s interrogation in the cellar just two hours prior, where Vincent detailed every meeting, every payment, and every promise Lucchesi had made to him.
The voice of Vincent Moretti filled the room, weeping, admitting every detail of the plot, including the planned execution of Rocco Bellavita that very night.
When the recording ended, the room fell into an absolute, suffocating silence.
Even Lucchesi’s own four bodyguards looked at their boss with subtle hesitation, realizing that their leader had violated every sacred law of the Chicago Commission.
Rocco slowly stood up from the head of the table.
"Joseph Lucchesi," Rocco declared, his voice ringing with ancient, absolute judgment. "You have broken the pact of 1995. You used poison against a fellow boss. You murdered family blood. You brought dishonor to this table."
"You can't touch me, Rocco!" Lucchesi yelled, his hand frantically reaching toward his coat lining. "My men control the street outside! If I don't walk out of this building in ten minutes, my entire family goes to war—"
CLICK.
The four bodyguards standing behind Lucchesi did not draw their weapons to protect him. Instead, they took three steps back, crossing their arms, turning their backs on their former Don.
Lucchesi froze, his hand sticking out from his coat, his eyes wide with absolute horror.
"Your lieutenants checked their phones ten minutes ago, Joseph," Santino said smoothly, adjusting his glasses. "When they saw the ledger pages we broadcasted to their private comms, they realized you had been poisoning your own capos to avoid paying their shares. You have no family left."
Lucchesi stumbled backward, his back hitting the glass window overlooking Michigan Avenue.
Rocco walked around the long mahogany table, stopping five feet from Lucchesi.
"You tried to strip me of my mind, Joseph," Rocco whispered softly. "You tried to make me die in my bed, confused, weak, and forgotten."
"Rocco... please..." Lucchesi whimpered, dropping to his knees on the plush carpet. "We can make a deal... take the docks... take everything..."
"The verdict of the Commission," Rocco said, looking around the table at the other bosses, who all nodded in silent, unanimous agreement, "is execution."
Rocco didn't draw a gun. He simply signaled to Marco.
Two Bellavita enforcers stepped forward, grabbed Lucchesi by his arms, and dragged him out through the rear exit toward the private freight elevator. Vincent Moretti was hauled out right behind him, crying out for mercy that would never come.
Rocco walked back to the head of the table, placing his hands on the leather chair.
"Gentlemen," Rocco said calmly to the remaining family bosses. "The Bellavita family will take temporary management of the Lucchesi shipping terminals to ensure stability in the city. The Commission is restored. Business continues as usual."
Mateo Rossi stood up, raising his glass of wine toward Rocco.
"To Don Rocco Bellavita," Rossi declared, his voice full of profound respect. "The true Chairman of Chicago."
The other bosses stood up, raising their glasses in unison. "To Don Bellavita!"
Rocco bowed his head politely, took a sip from his glass, and then turned to Marco, who had returned to the room.
"Marco," Rocco whispered.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Is the car ready?"
May you like
"Yes, Boss. Waiting downstairs."
"Good," Rocco said, his fierce expression softening completely. "Take me home. I have a promise to keep to a five-year-old girl."
