Chapter 9 - The Reckoning in the Lower Vault
Two days later, the storm had passed, leaving the Atlantic coast bathed in a crisp, brilliant autumn sunlight.
The lower vault of the Moretti estate—a soundproofed, stone-walled chamber deep beneath the foundation—was silent except for the rhythmic dripping of water in the drainage pipe.
Seated around a massive oak table in the center of the vault were the seven oldest captains of the Moretti organization. Men with scarred knuckles, graying hair, and decades of blood-soaked loyalty in their veins.
At the head of the table sat Alessandro Moretti.
On the table before him lay Ryan Mercer’s laptop, displaying the full confession and digital trail of his treason, alongside the signed testimonies of Marcus Vance and Liam Hale.
“The vote is unanimous,” old Donato Vane, the senior captain of the western territory, said, his raspy voice cutting through the silence. “Ryan Mercer dies tonight. And Boston will receive our formal declaration of war by morning.”
No one argued. In the syndicate, treason was the only sin that could not be pardoned by wealth, time, or service.
Alessandro nodded slowly. “Done. Double our patrols on the northern docks. Let Victor Vance know that we are coming for his entire portfolio.”
As the captains stood up and filed out of the vault one by one, Alessandro remained seated.
Luca lingered by the heavy iron door. “What about the girl and her mother, boss? Sophia is asking if they need to pack their bags.”
May you like
Alessandro looked down at his desk, where a small, crumpled red ribbon lay beside his pen—the ribbon Emma had dropped in the grand hall three days ago.
“Tell Sophia she has a permanent home on this estate,” Alessandro said quietly. “And tell her daughter... she’s invited to the real wedding.”
