Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of the Romano Syndicate
Dawn was breaking over the Hudson River, casting a pale, bruised light across the manicured lawns of the Moretti estate.
Inside the grand study, the heavy velvet drapes were drawn shut, illuminated only by the green glow of computer monitors and the amber light of a desk lamp. Marco Rossi stood before Aleandro’s desk, slamming a thick stack of intercepted financial documents and encrypted call logs onto the leather blotter.
“You were right, Boss,” Marco said, his voice grim. “The poison didn't come from a rival family. It came from the inside.”
Aleandro didn't look up from a digital tablet displaying forensic security footage. “Spell it out.”
“Don Salvatore Romano,” Marco said flatly. “We traced the shipment of the digitalis glycoside. It cleared customs under a shell corporation owned directly by the Romano syndicate. Valentina wasn't the target. She was collateral damage in her own father's plot.”
Aleandro slowly raised his head. His eyes were completely devoid of human warmth—a terrifying look that had made hardened capos beg for mercy. “Salvatore wanted me dead? On my own engagement night?”
“It gets worse,” Marco continued, sliding a second folder forward. “Salvatore knew about Emma. Three days ago, one of his fixers accessed the estate’s medical wing files. Salvatore realized that if you married Valentina, his family would control fifty percent of the Moretti shipping empire. But if you discovered you had a biological heir—a daughter—everything would go to Emma instead. Salvatore ordered your assassination so he could seize full control of the syndicate in the chaos of your funeral.”
The study door creaked open. Sophia stood in the doorway. She had been brought upstairs while Emma slept safely in the master suite under the watch of a trusted nurse. She had heard every word.
“He killed his own daughter?” Sophia whispered, her face pale. “Just for money and power?”
“Men like Salvatore Romano don't see family,” Aleandro said, standing up from his desk with a motion so sudden it made Marco step back. “They see assets on a ledger.”
Before Marco could answer, the heavy security alarm of the estate began to wail—a shrill, ear-piercing shriek that rattled the stained-glass windows.
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Marco’s radio crackled to life. “Boss! We’ve got incoming! Three vans just breached the front gates! It’s Romano’s enforcers! They’re heavily armed!”
Salvatore Romano had realized his plot was unraveling, and he was coming to finish the job personally.
