Chapter 6 - Shadows on the Charles
By sunrise, Boston was a powder keg.
The front page of the *Boston Globe* carried a photo of Sloane Barrett storming out of the conservatory in tears, flanked by headlines predicting a brutal war between the Barrett political dynasty and the Moretti empire.
In the penthouse kitchen, the smell of burnt toast and blueberry pancakes filled the air.
"Mateo, use a fork! Fingers are not utensils!" Elena scolded gently, though a smile played on her lips as she refilled four glasses of orange juice.
For the first time in six years, the penthouse didn't feel like a mausoleum. It was chaos. Toy race cars were lined up on the granite island, four small jackets hung crookedly over the barstools, and the quadruplets were engaged in a fierce debate over which superhero was the fastest.
"Flash is faster than Superman because he has lightning shoes!" Leo declared, slamming his small fist on the table.
"Is not!" Mateo yelled back, syrup dripping from his chin. "Superman flies, dummy!"
"Mateo, don't call your brother a dummy," I said, stepping into the kitchen.
All four boys instantly straightened up. It amazed me how quickly they responded to my voice. In less than twenty-four hours, an unspoken bond had formed between us. They watched how I walked, how I poured my coffee, how I leaned against the counter.
Mateo reached behind his neck, tilting his head back to rub the nape—my exact habit when caught doing something wrong.
Elena caught my eye over their heads. A soft, wistful smile touched her lips. "They mimic everything you do. It’s terrifying."
"It’s genetics," I replied, walking over and placing a hand on the small of her back. She didn't flinch away this time. The warmth of her body seeped through her shirt, anchoring me.
Before I could say another word, the heavy double doors of the penthouse elevator chimed.
Marco stepped into the foyer. His face was grim.
"Dominic," Marco said, keeping his voice carefully neutral so as not to alarm the children. "We have a visitor."
I stepped out of the kitchen, gesturing for Elena to stay with the boys.
Standing in the foyer was Salvatore Moretti.
He looked older in the morning light. The arrogance of the night before had been replaced by a tense, calculating desperation. Behind him stood two of his personal bodyguards, men who had served my father.
"Uncle," I said, leaning against the archway with my hands in my pockets. "You’re brave to come here uninvited."
"We need to talk, Dominic," Salvatore said, his raspy voice tight. "Without the guns. Without the shouting. Family to family."
His gaze shifted past my shoulder, catching sight of the breakfast table. Through the open archway, he saw the four boys laughing, their dark heads bobbing in the sunlight.
Salvatore’s expression darkened into something ancient and cold.
"So it’s true," Salvatore muttered. "The Vance girl didn't get rid of them. She kept them."
"Watch your mouth, Salvatore," I warned, my voice dropping an octave, dead and dangerous.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Salvatore stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at me. "The Barretts have already frozen our port licenses! Marcus called the Governor! By Monday, the state will issue warrants for every warehouse on the South Boston waterfront! We are looking at financial ruin, Dominic! All for what? For four bastards and a girl from Revere?"
Before I could move, a voice rang out behind me, sharp and commanding.
"They are not bastards."
Elena walked into the foyer, her head held high. She didn't cower. She stood beside me, her eyes locking onto Salvatore with a fury that could incinerate steel.
"You told me he gave you the ring, Salvatore," Elena said, her voice shaking with rage. "You looked me in the eyes while I was pregnant and told me Dominic would have me buried in the harbor if I didn't take your money. You are a liar, an extortionist, and a coward."
Salvatore sneered, showing his gold-capped teeth. "I did what was necessary to protect the Moretti bloodline! And you, girl, are a parasite. You think this boy can protect you? Marcus Barrett has hired outside muscle. The Russian syndicate from New York is already moving trucks into Chelsea. By midnight, Dominic won't have an empire left to rule."
Salvatore turned his gaze back to me. "Step down, Dominic. Relinquish the seat to the council. Hand over the territory to me, marry Sloane to fix the alliance, and I’ll let you take your little family and leave Boston alive. That is the only deal on the table."
I stared at my uncle for three long seconds.
Then I laughed.
It was a cold, humorless sound that echoed off the high glass walls.
"You really don't understand, do you, Salvatore?" I stepped forward, closing the distance until I was looking down into his wrinkled face. "You thought my father made this family strong. My father was weak because he listened to snakes like you."
I reached inside my suit jacket, pulled out an encrypted satellite phone, and pressed a single button.
"Marco," I commanded into the speaker. "Execute Order Four."
Salvatore’s eyes widened. "Order Four? What the hell is Order Four?"
"You thought Marcus Barrett was the only one with connections?" I whispered. "Six months ago, I bought Marcus Barrett’s offshore accounts through an anonymous shell corporation in Zurich. I own his campaign debt. I own his private real estate. And as of ten minutes ago, the FBI received a detailed dossier containing thirty years of your tax evasion, extortion records, and every single bribe you paid to city inspectors."
Salvatore went white. "You wouldn't. You’d bring down the whole family!"
"No," I smiled, a predator showing his teeth. "I’m bringing down *you*. You have two hours to get out of Massachusetts, Salvatore. If my men see your face within state lines after noon, I won't call the police. I’ll let Marco handle it."
"You arrogant bastard!" Salvatore lunged forward, reaching beneath his trench coat for a weapon.
He never cleared leather.
Marco slammed Salvatore against the marble wall, twisting his arm behind his back until the old man cried out in agony. A small, snub-nosed .38 revolver clattered onto the floor.
May you like
"Get him out of my sight," I said coldly, turning my back on him. "And tell Barrett if he wants a war, I’ll bring it to his front lawn."
***
