Chapter 5 - Shadows at the Door
Elena’s hands trembled so violently she nearly dropped the card. "I... I don't understand. Why would they do that? They refused to even speak to my lawyer. They laughed at me."
"They will not laugh tomorrow," Moretti said simply. He took another sip of his wine. "They will be extraordinarily eager to correct their administrative oversight."
Before Elena could respond, the heavy brass bell at the door rang again.
This time, it wasn't a soft, hesitant chime. It was a violent, sharp metallic clang as the door was kicked open. Three men stepped inside, dripping wet, smelling of stale tobacco and cheap cologne. They wore heavy leather jackets over tailored shirts, their shoulders broad, their hands tucked deep inside their pockets.
The dining room went instantly deathly silent. The pianist stopped mid-chord, his fingers hovering over the keys like terrified birds.
The man in the center was tall, with a broken nose and a faint white scar running from his ear down to his collar. He didn't look at the host stand. He didn't look at the chandeliers. His eyes swept the room until they landed squarely on Table Eleven.
"Vito," the scarred man said, his voice grating like gravel in a blender. "We heard you were dining alone tonight. Thought we’d come pay our respects."
Mr. Ricca shrank behind the host stand, his face turning the color of curdled milk. I froze, clutching my tray tightly against my chest.
Moretti didn't turn around. He didn't even stop chewing his bread.
"You're interrupting a family's dinner, Lorenzo," Moretti said calmly, his tone conversational. "That is a severe breach of etiquette. Even for a dog like you."
Lorenzo sneered, stepping closer. His two henchmen shifted, their right hands moving subtly under their leather coats, revealing the distinct, angular outlines of heavy firearms.
"The Commission sent us to deliver a message," Lorenzo said, leaning against an empty table, his wet sleeve soaking into a pristine white tablecloth. "The docks belong to the Morello family now. Your time is up, old man."
Mia gasped, shrinking back into her seat and burying her face in her mother's coat. Elena wrapped her arms around her daughter, her eyes wide with terror as she realized what kind of man was sitting across from them.
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Moretti set his fork down with extreme care. He picked up his napkin, dabbed his lips, and finally turned his head to look at Lorenzo.
"You brought guns into a restaurant where a child is eating," Moretti said softly. His voice had dropped to a whisper, but it carried an authority so dark, so absolute, that the temperature in the room seemed to drop below freezing. "You have five seconds to walk out that door, Lorenzo. Or you will never walk again."
