Chapter 5 - Blood in the Streets
By late afternoon, the tension in the city had reached a boiling point.
Reports flooded into Enzo’s office: a warehouse belonging to the Marchetti shipping company at Pier 12 had been firebombed, and two of Enzo's street enforcers had been ambushed in broad daylight. Victor Moretti was striking hard, attempting to rattle the Marchetti family before Enzo could organize a counter-strike.
Enzo stood behind his mahogany desk, surrounded by his top captains: Ray, Angelo, and his veteran underboss, Marco.
"Moretti is panicking," Marco said, leaning against the table with a cigar between his fingers. "He knows if we get that safety deposit box open and hand the ledger to the federal prosecutor, his entire organization goes down. He’s trying to start a full-blown turf war to distract us."
"Let him try," Ray grunted. "We have twice as many soldiers as he does. We can wipe his family off the map by midnight."
Enzo raised a hand, commanding absolute silence in the room.
"We don't launch an all-out attack until we secure the evidence," Enzo commanded sharply. "Ray, take three men and use the brass key to clear out Safety Deposit Box 408 at the First National Bank downtown. Secure that ledger."
"Right away, Boss," Ray said, turning on his heel and exiting the office.
Enzo turned his gaze toward Marco. The veteran underboss had been with the Marchetti family for twenty years, served under Enzo's father, and knew every secret the family possessed. Yet Enzo noticed a tiny bead of sweat running down Marco's temple despite the cool air conditioning.
"Marco," Enzo said casually. "How did Moretti know Claire's exact address last night? Only three people in this family knew Rosa was setting up that meeting."
Marco’s hands twitched slightly. "It... it could have been wiretaps, Enzo. Moretti has contacts in the police department. They could have intercepted Rosa’s phone call."
"Perhaps," Enzo said, stepping around his desk slowly. "Or perhaps someone inside this room sold her out for a slice of Moretti's illegal gambling racket on the south side."
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"Are you accusing me?" Marco demanded, his voice rising in defensive anger. "I bled with your father, Enzo! I helped build this empire!"
"I didn't name you, Marco," Enzo replied softly, his voice colder than a winter storm. "Why did you name yourself?"
