Chapter 4 - The Language of Betrayal
The dining hall smelled of copper and cordite now. Carlo Neri was groaning, his face pressed against the walnut table, his blood pooling around Roman’s glass of scotch.
Roman remained standing, his hands held slightly away from his body. He was a killer, a veteran of street wars, but the absolute stillness in Maya’s posture terrified him more than a dozen armed men. She didn't have the eyes of a grieving widow. She had the eyes of a general who had already won the war before the first shot was fired.
“Maya,” Roman said, trying to steady his voice. “You think a sniper outside gives you the upper hand? The Moretti family has two hundred men staging at the border of the district. If I don't check in by midnight, this city burns.”
Claire Moretti stood up, her cold facade cracking. “My family will not be part of an execution, Roman. Maya, I had nothing to do with the hit on Dominic. Aldo and Roman approached us with a done deal.”
Maya turned her quiet eyes toward Claire. “Your father, Silvio Moretti, signed a contract with a Russian transport syndicate out of Murmansk two months ago. He used Dominic’s routes without permission. You were sent here tonight to ensure the new regime wouldn't look too closely at the logs.”
Claire’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“I know the weight of your family’s debt, Claire,” Maya said, her voice soft, almost sympathetic. “I know your brother is currently in a federal holding cell in San Diego. I can make that case disappear with a single keystroke. Or I can ensure he spends the next thirty years in solitary confinement. What is your loyalty worth tonight?”
Claire looked at Roman, then at the blood dripping from the table. She sat back down, her hands folding in her lap. “My family is neutral.”
“Good,” Maya said. She looked at Aldo Vescari, who was shaking with a mixture of rage and cognitive dissonance.
“You gave my father his first crew,” Aldo hissed, his old voice cracking. “Dominic owes his entire legacy to the old guard. You are nothing but an outsider. A shadow.”
“A shadow is exactly what you should fear, Aldo,” Maya said. She stepped toward him, leaning over the table. “Three years ago, you took five million dollars from the construction fund to buy a villa in Marbella. Dominic knew. He didn't kill you because he remembered his father’s respect for you. He chose mercy.”
She reached out, her gloved hand gently patting Aldo’s wrinkled cheek. The gesture was a terrifying echo of Dominic’s protective warmth, but cast in absolute ice.
“But Dominic is asleep right now,” Maya whispered. “And I am not merciful.”
She turned to Roman. “Roman, you were his brother. He would have given you the empire in five years if you had asked. He wanted to retire. He wanted to build a life with me away from this blood. Why couldn't you wait?”
May you like
Roman’s jaw tightened. “Because a king doesn't ask for a crown, Maya. He takes it.”
“Then let’s see how well you can hold it,” Maya said. She pulled her Walther from her coat, pointing it directly at Roman’s chest. “Carlo is going to give me the keys to your private vault in Rosemont. And you, Roman, are going to call an emergency meeting of the entire Chicago council. Tonight. At the docks.”
