Chapter 6 - The Council of Three
The transition from spring to summer in the Duca organization was marked by a series of quiet, permanent disappearances. The Vasquez syndicate, emboldened by the attack on the penthouse, had attempted to seize the North Avenue docks, only to find their supply lines cut off by a sudden, brutal coordination between the Duca crews and an unexpected ally.
Dominic Moretti sat in the grand study of the Lake Forest estate, his old hands resting on the silver head of his walking cane. Opposite him sat Marco, and between them was a low mahogany table covered in tactical maps of the city's western rail yards.
"Vasquez is desperate, Marco," Moretti said, his gravelly voice echoing off the book-lined walls. "The feds are looking into his union accounts in Cicero. He needs a win. He thinks because you’ve been spending all your time out here in the woods with the women that you’ve gone soft."
"Let him think it," Marco said, not looking at the maps. He was looking at a closed-circuit television monitor on the corner of his desk. On the screen, Lena was sitting in a specialized wheelchair on the rear terrace, her brother Danny standing beside her, holding a blue notebook as they watched the sun set over the lawn.
"The commission is getting nervous," Moretti continued, leaning forward, his old eyes narrowing. "They don't like it when a boss doesn't show his face at the meetings. They say you’re letting a nurse run the family."
Marco slowly turned his eyes to the old Don. The stillness that returned to his face was more terrifying than any shout. "The girl isn't a nurse, Dominic. She’s the reason my mother is currently drinking tea in the conservatory instead of rotting in a hole in Mount Carmel. If any man on the commission has a problem with how I spend my time, tell them to come out here and say it to my face."
Moretti stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then a small, dry smile broke across his weathered face. "Your father was the same way, Marco. When Isabella had the typhus back in '79, he shut down the entire East Side operation for a month just to sit by her bed and hold the basin when she threw up. The old-timers said he was crazy. But when he came back... he killed everyone who had tried to take his corner while he was gone."
Moretti stood up, adjusting his dark silk tie. "Vasquez is moving his main shipment through the western yard on Friday night. Two hundred keys of pure white from the gulf. If you take that yard, he’s done. He won't have enough cash left to pay his drivers, let alone his hitmen."
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"I’ll be there," Marco said, standing up to escort the old boss to the door.
"And Marco?" Moretti paused, looking at the television monitor where Lena was now laughing at something her brother had said. "Get her some flowers, kid. Women don't like it when you just pay their medical bills. They want to see something bloom."
