Chapter 9 - The Meeting at Midnight
The warehouse was a cavernous dome of shadows and tension. Through a secure radio link Damiano had left with his head of security at the house, I listened in agonizing silence to the parley.
“You have gone too far, Moretti!” Don Carlo’s voice crackled through the speaker, thick with rage. “Return my daughter, or we kill you right here.” “Your daughter planted a bomb at a peace summit, Carlo,” Damiano replied, calm and unbothered. “She broke the Omertà. The penalty is death.” “Lies! A convenient story to steal my territory!”
I could hear the metallic clicks of dozens of guns being drawn. “It’s no lie, Carlo,” a new voice echoed through the warehouse. I gasped. It was the "sad-eyed man"—the bomber. Damiano had brought him to the meeting. “Isabella hired me,” the man confessed, his voice trembling. “She said she wanted to wipe out the old guard so you, Don Carlo, could rule alone. She wanted to be the Queen of the Syndicate.”
Silence stretched over the radio. “She went behind my back?” Carlo murmured, his voice breaking. The realization that his own daughter had risked his life for power shattered his resolve. “I’ll spare her life,” Damiano said, stepping into the silence. “On one condition. You strip her of the family name, exile her to Europe, and the Chicago Outfit publicly steps down from the East Coast territories. Forever.”
May you like
Carlo had no choice. The other Dons had heard the confession. To protect Isabella would mean turning the entire nation against Chicago. “Agreed,” Carlo spat bitterly. “May you rot in hell, Moretti.” “I’m already there,” Damiano replied. “But the view is getting better.”
A cheer erupted from Damiano’s men. The war was over before a single shot was fired on the streets. He had won. Using intellect, patience, and the absolute truth, he had outplayed the biggest crime family in America. I fell to my knees in the safe room, crying tears of absolute relief. He was coming home.
