Chapter 6 - The Council of River BaronsThree days later, the emergency meeting of the Midwest Syndicate Commission was convened in the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago.
All forty commanders who had attended the fateful engagement dinner were present, seated around an expansive u-shaped conference table beneath the soaring crystal chandeliers.
The atmosphere was completely transformed.
There were no whispered conspiracies. No arrogant smirks.
Every single man in the room sat upright, hands flat on the table, waiting for the arrival of the sovereign.
The heavy oak doors swung open.
Luca Moretti walked into the room, wearing an immaculate black three-piece suit, his presence commanding absolute, undisputed authority.
Walking beside him, his ivory cane resting comfortably in his right hand, was Frank Moretti.
And walking at Luca’s right side, dressed in an elegant gown of deep midnight-blue silk with the restored gold locket resting proudly against her collarbone, was me.
Luca didn't take his seat immediately.
He walked to the center of the room, stopped before the assembled syndicate leaders, and pulled out the heavy mahogany armchair directly to his right—the place setting that had been reserved for the Donna of the Moretti empire.
He looked down at me with profound, open respect.
“Please sit, Maria.”
I took my seat gracefully, smoothing the silk over my lap, feeling the warmth of forty pairs of eyes watching me not as a former housemaid, but as the rightful heiress to the Moretti bloodline.
Frank took his seat to Luca’s left, setting his cane against the table with a firm, resounding clack.
Luca sat at the head of the table. He rested his forearms on the polished mahogany wood, his gray eyes sweeping across the forty commanders.
“Gentlemen,” Luca began, his deep baritone cutting through the silence of the room. “Three days ago, an alliance built on murder, greed, and twenty-four years of treason was dismantled in my home.”
He looked at the commanders from Cicero, Rockford, and Milwaukee.
“The Bellini syndicate has been completely liquidated by federal court decree. Their shipping berths, their banking charters, and their transport corridors have been absorbed directly into the Moretti Maritime Trust.”
He paused, letting the magnitude of the announcement settle over the assembly.
“From this day forward, any man who conducts business in this territory under the Moretti name will adhere to one standard: absolute loyalty, complete transparency, and total protection of the innocent. Any man who deviates from this standard will share a cell with Salvatore Bellini in federal prison.”
Every single capo in the room nodded in immediate, profound agreement.
Don Carmine Falcone, the oldest and most respected capo from the South Side, slowly pushed back his heavy armchair.
He stood up, raised his crystal glass of vintage port into the air, and bowed his silver head respectfully toward me.
“To Donna Maria,” Falcone declared in a voice of ancient, gravelly reverence. “The daughter of the lion. Honor to the brave!”
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One by one, the remaining thirty-nine syndicate commanders stood from their chairs, raising their glasses in a synchronized, thunderous toast that shook the chandelier pendants overhead:
“To Donna Maria! Honor to the house of Moretti!”
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