Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Organization
While the tension inside the North Shore mansion reached a boiling point, the underground machinery of the Moretti syndicate was beginning to buckle under the weight of internal betrayals.
Down in the subterranean firing range beneath the downtown shipping yards, Marco Moretti—Ethan’s cousin and second-in-command—slammed a fresh magazine into his Glock 17, firing five rapid shots into the center mass of a paper silhouette target.
The targets shredded apart under the gunfire.
Walking out of the shadows behind him was Salvatore Rossi, an aging capo who had served under Ethan’s father and held deep-seated resentment toward the younger Moretti’s modernizing, legitimate business ventures.
“You heard the news, Marco?” Salvatore rasped, lighting a thick Tuscan cigar. “Ethan brought the girl back. The pregnant one. Found her cleaning rooms at the Magnolia Grand like a common transient.”
Marco lowered his pistol, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. A bitter, twisted smile touched his lips. “Yeah, I heard. The great Ethan Moretti, distracted by a stray he picked up off the street. If the commission finds out his heir is tied to a penniless nobody, they’ll use it to challenge his leadership by the end of the quarter.”
“They don't have to wait for the commission,” Salvatore muttered, blowing a cloud of gray smoke toward the concrete ceiling. “If the girl has the kid, Ethan’s focus shifts entirely away from the docks. And if something were to happen... say, complications during childbirth due to severe stress and exhaustion... well, tragic accidents happen in this city every day.”
Marco turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing. “What are you suggesting, Sal?”
“I’m suggesting that Vivian Moretti isn't the only one who thinks this family needs to be protected from itself,” Salvatore said smoothly. “Ethan is too soft. He cares about the girl. And in our world, caring is a fatal vulnerability.”
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Marco stared at the smoking barrel of his gun. He hated Ethan’s shadow; he had spent his entire life playing second fiddle to a cousin who inherited everything by right of birth. If Ethan was distracted by a pregnant ex-maid, the opportunity to seize control of the North Side syndicates might never present itself again.
“Just watch your step,” Marco warned quietly. “Ethan isn't his father. If he catches wind that you’re moving against his household, he won't just exile you—he’ll feed you to the lake.”
