Chapter 5 - The Marcone Alliance Shattered
By noon the next day, the rain had cleared, leaving New York cold and bright. The commission was scheduled to meet at an undisclosed warehouse near the Newark docks—a neutral territory where the five families settled disputes over shipping rights and union contracts.
I sat at the head of the long steel table, Marco standing behind me like a shadow. Silvio Marcone sat opposite me. He was forty, loud, dressed in an oversized silk suit, his fingers covered in gold rings. He had inherited his family’s operations after his father died in federal prison, and he lacked the patience that kept men alive in our world.
"We have a problem with the northern berths, Valenti," Silvio said, tossing a folder onto the table. "My sister is dead, which means the marriage contract that secured those berths is technically null. We want fifty percent of the revenue from the incoming container ships, or we close the gates."
"The marriage contract was with the Valenti family, Silvio," I said, my voice smooth, almost casual as I leaned back in my chair. "Not just with Beatrice. The berths remain under my control."
"Beatrice didn't leave you an heir," Silvio sneered, leaning forward, his teeth showing in a predatory smile. "You're a solo act, Dominic. And word on the street is that your old wife—the defective one—is back in town with a little bastard she’s hiding in BrooklynHeights. Word is, the kid has the Valenti eyes. If that’s true, it means you've been lying to the commission about your line of succession."
The men in the room—the captains from the other three families—shifted in their seats. In our world, an unacknowledged child from a divorced union was a vulnerability, a crack in the foundation that invited civil war.
"Careful, Silvio," Marco said from behind me, his hand dropping to his side.
"No, let him speak," I said, raising a hand to stay Marco. I looked at Silvio, feeling a strange, detached calm take over my body. The fear was gone. The hesitation was gone. I knew exactly what had to be done to protect table nine. "You've been spending a lot of time watching that house in Brooklyn, Silvio. That tells me you're neglecting your own business."
"I'm keeping an eye on my interests," Silvio said.
"Your interests are currently being liquidated," I replied, pulling a small digital tablet from my pocket and sliding it across the table. "At ten o'clock this morning, the federal prosecutor's office issued twenty-four warrants for the senior management of Marcone Logistics. Your accounts in Jersey City have been frozen under the RICO act. Julian Vance signed the affidavits himself."
Silvio’s smile vanished. He grabbed the tablet, his eyes scanning the data, his face turning an unwholesome shade of grey. "This is... this is a federal setup. You're working with the feds, Valenti? You're a rat?"
"I don't work with the feds, Silvio," I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. "But Julian Vance is family. He’s my daughter's great-uncle. And in this city, family comes before business. You tried to use my child as a bargaining chip. That means you are no longer a partner. You are a liability."
The other captains at the table stood up slowly, stepping away from Silvio. They could smell the wind changing. A Don who could direct federal indictments like a weapon without ever stepping into a courtroom was far more dangerous than a man with a gun.
"You're dead, Valenti," Silvio hissed, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up, his hand reaching for his pocket.
May you like
Before his fingers could touch leather, Marco stepped forward, his weapon cleared and aimed directly between Silvio’s eyes. The room went entirely still.
"You leave this city by tonight, Silvio," I said, not even looking back at him as I walked toward the exit. "Go to Miami. Go to Sicily. I don't care. But if I see a single Marcone car within five miles of Brooklyn Heights after dark, I won't use the courts. I'll use the river."
