Chapter 5 - The Serpent’s Smile
The crystal chandelier bathed the forty-foot mahogany table in a warm, amber glow.
Around it sat the remnants of the Moretti dynasty.
Uncle Antonio sat at the far end, his gray hair slicked back with lavender pomade, cutting into a thick steak with steady, calloused hands that had buried bodies back in the nineteen-eighties.
To his right was my cousin Julian, adjusting his gold cufflinks, his laptop open beside his silverware as he monitored real estate acquisitions.
At the opposite side sat my brother Vincent, looking slightly flushed from bourbon, a young blonde model giggling beside his chair while he fed her imported prosciutto.
When I stepped through the heavy oak double doors, the laughter abruptly stopped.
The tension in the room thickened until it tasted like copper.
"Dominic," Uncle Antonio spoke first, dabbing his lips with a linen napkin.
"Frank called saying the sky was falling."
"You summon us like street soldiers on a Tuesday afternoon?"
"My logistics shipment in Galveston was mid-loading."
"Shut up, Antonio," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
Antonio’s eyes narrowed into slits, his jaw tightening, but he remained seated.
No one spoke to the Don like that without consequence.
Julian closed his laptop with a quiet click, his plastic corporate smile sliding across his smooth face.
"Rough day at the board meeting, cousin?" Julian asked, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.
"We saw a small drop in the port logistics stock this morning, but nothing to burn down the house over."
I ignored him and walked slowly around the perimeter of the table.
My shoes clicked against the polished herringbone parquet floor.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Vincent leaned back, waving the blonde model out of the room with a flick of his wrist.
"Leave us, babe," Vincent murmured.
The girl scrambled out through the service door without looking back.
"What's the play, Dom?" Vincent asked, pouring himself another shot of liquor.
"Did the Feds serve another grand jury subpoena?"
"I ran into an old friend today," I said softly, stopping right behind Julian’s chair.
Julian didn't flinch, but I saw the tendon in his left neck muscle pull tight.
"Who?" Antonio grunted, chewing his meat.
"Madison."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Antonio paused his fork mid-air.
Julian’s fingers tightened slightly against each other.
Vincent froze with his glass an inch from his mouth.
"Madison?" Vincent repeated, a nervous laugh escaping his throat.
"Your ex? Man, she took her millions and vanished to California four years ago."
"Why the hell are you thinking about her now?"
"She didn't go to California, Vincent," I replied, watching the reflection of the room in the large gilded mirror opposite the table.
"I found her on Commerce Street."
"Digging through public garbage bins."
"Crushing empty aluminum cans to pay for shelter."
Julian cleared his throat, shaking his head with an expression of performative sympathy.
"Drugs," Julian declared smoothly.
"It happens all the time with people who can't handle high wealth suddenly."
"She probably fell in with some addict, blew the settlement money, and landed in the gutter."
"It's tragic, Dominic, but she made her choice when she abandoned you."
"She didn't blow the settlement, Julian," I said, my hand resting heavily on Julian’s shoulder.
I felt him stiffen under my grip.
"Her accounts were seized by the FBI."
"Fifty million dollars in cartel funds were routed through her personal bank accounts four days after our divorce."
"Someone framed her."
"Someone used federal law enforcement to eliminate her without leaving blood on our floor."
Antonio set his knife down with a heavy clatter that cracked the edge of his bone china plate.
"Why would anyone bother framing a civilian woman?" Antonio growled, leaning forward.
"She was out of the business."
"She was out of the family."
"Because she found out someone was planning to kill me," I stated, leaning over Julian until my mouth was inches from his ear.
"And whoever framed her told her that if she ever warned me, or if she ever asked me for help, they would put a bullet through my brain while I slept."
The room seemed to lose all air.
Vincent set his glass down so hard the amber liquid sloshed over the polished wood.
"Who would do that?" Vincent gasped, his face turning pale.
"Dom, that's insane."
"We're your blood."
"Who would point a gun at your head?"
I didn't answer Vincent.
My hand remained clamped like a vise on Julian's shoulder, feeling the faint, rapid tremor running through his body.
"The black sedan watching her at the diner today had custom government-grade communication antennas hidden under the trunk lid," I said softly.
"The kind of equipment only one division in our entire empire purchases."
"Private security logistics."
"Your division, Julian."
Julian didn't look up at me.
His smile was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.
"Dominic," Julian said, his voice dropping into a razor-thin tone.
"You're making accusations based on the words of a starving, mentally broken woman who hasn't lived in reality for half a decade."
"I didn't make an accusation," I whispered into his ear.
"I gave you a chance to confess."
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I drew my Glock from beneath my jacket and slammed the steel slide down onto the polished mahogany table between his hands.
"Now," I said, looking across the three men who shared my grandfather's blood.
