Chapter 8 - The Crossing of the River
The sun rose over the East River in a haze of industrial orange and gray.
A convoy of twelve identical black SUVs moved across the Manhattan Bridge, their windows dark, their speed controlled and relentless. At the head of the convoy sat Matteo Moretti, his white shirt replaced by a clean black suit, his stiletto knife resting inside his breast pocket next to a silver fountain pen.
Silas sat in the front passenger seat, his shoulder bandaged tightly beneath his coat, his face grim. "The Romano headquarters on Grand Street has been isolated, Don Matteo. Our people have blocked the side alleys and the subway entrance. Silvano is inside with his core guard. He knows he has nowhere to run."
"He has his lawyers," Matteo said coldly, looking out at the city skyline. "He thinks the laws of men will protect him from the laws of the family. He forgets that the concrete under his feet was poured by my grandfather."
When the SUVs pulled up to the front of the Romano Social Club on Grand Street, the neighborhood was completely silent. The local street vendors had already closed their stands; the old women who usually sat on the stoops had vanished inside. The city knew when the pack was hunting.
Matteo stepped out of the vehicle, his captains aligning behind him in a silent, dark wall of wool and steel. He didn't wait for his men to breach the door; he walked up to the heavy oak entrance himself and pushed it open.
Inside, the club smelled of stale cigars, aniseette, and fear. Silvano Romano sat at a circular card table in the center of the room, six of his heaviest enforcers standing around him with their hands inside their jackets. His lawyer sat to his left, a stack of legal documents trembling in his hands.
"Matteo," Silvano said, his voice cracking slightly despite his attempt at a confident smile. "You're a long way from your estate. You can't just walk into my borough with an army. The commission won't allow a full-scale war over a residential dispute."
"The commission is dead, Silvano," Matteo said, walking toward the table with a slow, deliberate stride. "I spoke with the bosses of the other three families at 4:00 AM. They agreed that a man who sends sixty shooters into a house containing a pregnant woman has no respect for the blood. They have given me their blessings to clean the street."
The Romano lawyer stood up, his voice high and frantic. "Don Moretti! We have filed federal protection orders! If a single shot is fired in this building, the FBI will move on your assets within the hour!"
Matteo didn't look at the lawyer. He reached into his coat, pulled out the small leather folder that Norah had compiled from the household accounts—the complete, unedited ledger of the Romano family’s offshore bank accounts, bribery records for forty-two city officials, and the coordinates of every unmarked grave they had used in New Jersey for twenty years.
He tossed the folder onto the card table. It landed with a heavy, definitive thud.
"That folder is currently being copied to the federal prosecutor's server in Manhattan," Matteo said smoothly. "Every asset you own, Silvano, is being frozen as we speak. Your lawyers can't save you because they will be in the cell next to you by noon. You have no money left to pay these men standing behind you. And in our world, no money means no loyalty."
The six Romano enforcers looked at the folder, then at each other. One by one, their hands slowly crept out from inside their jackets. They didn't draw their weapons. They took two steps back, melting into the shadows of the back hallway, leaving Silvano sitting alone at the table with his sweating attorney.
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"You... you bastard," Silvano whispered, his face twisting into a mask of pure, desperate terror as he realized the empire his father had built had just been dismantled with a single piece of leather and a collection of data. "You can't do this."
"I am already doing it," Matteo said, drawing the silver stiletto knife from his breast pocket. "Silas. Take the lawyer outside. Silvano and I are going to have a conversation about the price of a mother’s peace."
