Chapter 2 - The Chemistry of Betrayal
The bedroom door locked once again, but this time, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The illusion of a medical routine was shattered. Dr. Voss was weeping softly on the floor, Nurse Clara was restrained in an armchair with heavy leather belts from Rocco’s closet, and Vincent Moretti sat in a low wooden chair, his hands cuffed behind his back with Dante’s personal steel cuffs.
Rocco sat behind his heavy oak desk in the corner of the room, the morning sun now fully illuminating the dark leather and silver appointments.
On the desk rested three items:
The bottle of pills Dr. Voss had attempted to administer.
The original bottle Sophia had rescued.
The black leather folder containing the conservatorship petition.
"Dante," Rocco commanded. "Call Dr. Raymond Chen. Tell him to bring his mobile toxicology kit and a secure transport unit. Use line four."
Dante nodded, pulling an encrypted satellite phone from his jacket. "Yes, Boss."
Vincent looked up, his voice raspy and desperate. "Rocco, listen to reason. Even if you stop this... it’s already in motion. The court hearing is scheduled for ten o'clock this morning in District 4. The judge has already signed the provisional order based on Voss’s preliminary filings. If you don't show up, or if you show up acting like a lunatic, they will execute the warrant automatically!"
Rocco slowly opened the bottle of pills that Dr. Voss had tampered with. He tipped one out onto his palm. It was a standard white round tablet, stamped with the letters AZ-40.
"Dr. Voss," Rocco said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Tell me what is in this tablet. If you tell me the absolute truth, I will let Dante give you a quick end. If you lie to me... I will turn you over to Raymond Chen for medical experimentation."
Dr. Voss sobbed, shaking violently. "It’s... it’s Scopolamine mixed with high-dose Flunitrazepam and a synthetic sodium-channel blocker!"
Rocco raised an eyebrow. "In layman's terms, Doctor."
"It’s... it’s a chemical lobotomy," Voss confessed, tears streaming into his white beard. "Taken daily, it causes severe memory loss, extreme confusion, acute hallucinations, and profound physical weakness within forty-eight hours. To any outside neurologist, the symptoms perfectly mimic rapid-onset vascular dementia. In two weeks... your heart would fail naturally."
Rocco looked down at the tiny white tablet in his hand.
This was what they had been feeding him for the last three weeks.
He recalled the sudden dizzy spells he had experienced during last Tuesday’s Commission meeting. He remembered forgetting the combination to his personal safe two nights ago—a combination he had used for twenty years. He had assumed it was fatigue, aging, the stress of running an empire.
It wasn't age. It was poison.
"Who supplied the compound, Voss?" Rocco asked softly. "A drug like that isn't made in a retail pharmacy."
"I... I don't know!" Voss cried out.
Dante stepped forward, his massive hand resting on Voss’s shoulder, squeezing the collarbone until the wood frame of the chair groaned.
"A-Ahhh! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!" Voss shrieked. "It came from the Moretti Pharmaceutical warehouse in Newark! From Don Carmine Moretti!"
Rocco’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice.
Carmine Moretti. Vincent’s father. Rocco’s brother-in-law. The head of the Newark faction of the family.
"Carmine," Rocco murmured. "My sister’s husband."
"My father is doing what needs to be done for the survival of the family!" Vincent spat, dropping his polite facade, his voice venomous. "You’ve grown soft, Rocco! You spend millions on charities, on housing for your servants, on legitimate real estate! You refused to enter the synthetic fentanyl trade with the Mexican syndicates! You were leaving hundreds of millions on the table while the FBI closed in on our traditional rackets!"
"The fentanyl trade destroys families, Vincent," Rocco said coldly. "We build power. We don't poison our own streets."
"We are gangsters, Rocco!" Vincent roared, pulling against his handcuffs. "We aren't saints! You’re old! You’re obsolete! The Commission agreed with my father! Five of the Seven Families have already signed off on the transfer of power to Newark! The court petition this morning is just the legal mop-up! By noon today, Carmine Moretti will be the acting Don of the Bellavita family, and you will be sitting in a padded room!"
Rocco didn't answer.
He stood up, walking over to the window that looked out over the front driveway.
A fleet of three black Lincoln Town Cars was currently pulling through the main gates. Through the tinted glass of the lead vehicle, Rocco caught a glimpse of a tailored navy suit and a thick gold pinky ring.
Carmine Moretti had arrived.
He had come to watch his brother-in-law be dragged out of the mansion in a wheelchair, bound for a mental institution.
Rocco looked at his watch. It was 7:15 AM.
He turned back toward the room.
"Dante," Rocco said smoothly.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Lock Dr. Voss and Nurse Clara in the wine cellar vault. If either of them makes a sound, break their knees."
"Understood."
"And what about Vincent?" Dante asked, glaring at the trembling nephew.
Rocco looked down at his nephew, his eyes devoid of any human warmth.
"Put Vincent in my suit jacket," Rocco commanded softly. "Fix his tie. Make him look like a loving nephew who is about to accompany his dear uncle to court."
Vincent frowned, fear creeping back into his eyes. "What are you going to do?"
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Rocco picked up the original bottle of medicine that Sophia had saved—the real medication, the clean blood pressure pills that kept his heart strong. He tipped two into his mouth and swallowed them with a gulp of clear water.
"You said the court hearing is at ten o'clock, Vincent," Rocco whispered, stepping so close he could smell the expensive cologne on his nephew’s neck. "It would be terribly rude of me to keep the judge waiting."
