Chapter 6 - The Council of Wolves
The executive boardroom on the forty-second floor of Moretti Towers smelled of cold espresso, expensive cigars, and suppressed panic.
At 10:00 AM the following morning, five men sat around a massive black granite table overlooking the gray expanse of Lake Michigan. They were the regional kingpins, board directors, and senior partners who controlled the financial arteries of the Moretti syndicate.
And right now, they looked like men staring at the barrel of an unloaded gun.
The heavy oak doors swung open.
Damian Moretti walked in. He wore a sharp, charcoal-gray three-piece suit, his black tie knotted with absolute precision. He didn't greet anyone. He didn't sit at the head of the table immediately. Instead, he walked slowly to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the ant-like rush of traffic far below, before turning around and resting both hands flat on the granite surface.
Arthur Bellini—Isabelle’s father, a man whose shipping empire depended entirely on Moretti logistics terminals—stood up at the other end of the table, his face mottled with purple rage.
“Have you lost your absolute mind, Damian?” Bellini slammed both palms onto the table. “You terminated Isabelle’s engagement over a maid? You froze our joint shipping contracts? My board of directors is threatening an emergency shareholder vote to oust you from the executive trust!”
The other four men murmured in agreement, shifting uneasily in their leather chairs.
Damian didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He simply watched Bellini with the cold, detached amusement of an apex predator observing an injured animal thrashing in a shallow pool.
“Are you finished, Arthur?” Damian asked softly.
“Finished? You’ve blown up a ten-million-dollar alliance over a girl who scrubs toilets!” Bellini spat. “Who the hell do you think you are? You think because your father handed you this empire on a silver platter you can toss aside family contracts like garbage?”
Damian reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a thick manila folder, and tossed it across the granite table. It slid smoothly across the stone, coming to a halt directly in front of Bellini.
“Open it,” Damian commanded.
Bellini frowned, eyeing the folder warily. He reached down, flipped open the cardboard tab, and pulled out a stack of documents.
Within three seconds, the color completely drained from Bellini’s face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“T-This... this is impossible,” Bellini stammered, flipping frantically through the papers. “Where did you get these audits? These are internal tax records from my private overseas holdings!”
“Your overseas holdings funded by embezzlement from our joint terminal revenues over the past four years,” Damian supplied smoothly, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp register. “You thought because we were about to become family through marriage, I wouldn't audit the ledgers? You thought you could steal from Moretti logistics and hide behind your daughter’s wedding veil?”
The room fell into an absolute, suffocating dead silence. The other four directors stared at Bellini in horror, realizing instantly that the alliance was not merely broken—it was being surgically excised.
“Damian—please,” Bellini choked out, his arrogance evaporating into whimpering terror as he gripped the edge of the table. “We can work this out. Don't go to the federal prosecutor. We’re partners—”
“We were never partners, Arthur,” Damian interrupted, stepping slowly around the table until he stood towering over Bellini’s chair. “You were a guest in my house. And your daughter made the fatal mistake of forgetting her place under my roof.”
Damian placed both hands on the back of Bellini’s chair, leaning in close.
“Pack your bags, Arthur,” Damian whispered, loud enough for every man in the boardroom to hear. “By noon, your shipping terminals are nationalized under the Moretti trust, your assets are frozen, and you and your family are persona non grata in this city. If I ever see your face, or Isabelle’s, within five miles of my property again, the federal indictment won't be your only problem.”
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Bellini collapsed back into his chair, utterly broken, a defeated man crushed beneath the weight of an empire he had foolishly tried to manipulate.
Damian straightened his jacket, turned his back on the trembling men, and walked out of the boardroom without looking back.
