Chapter 6 - The Bloodline Exposed
By 8:00 AM the following morning, Boston was on fire.
The front page of the Boston Globe featured a photograph of me leaving the conservatory in the rain, juxtaposed beside an archival photo of Sloane Barrett wiping away tears behind the tinted window of her limousine.
"THE BILLION-DOLLAR BETRAYAL," the headlines read.
Inside Apartment 2B, the smell of burnt toast and instant coffee filled the air.
I sat at the rickety wooden table, my broad shoulders completely dwarfing the small chair. Surrounding me were four boys eating scrambled eggs out of mismatched plastic bowls.
Leo sat on my left, watching my every breath with intense suspicion. Mateo and Luca were busy arguing over who got the blue spoon, while Nico sat directly against my side, his small leg pressed against my thigh as if he were afraid I would evaporate into thin air if he let go.
Elena moved around the kitchen with nervous, frantic energy, throwing clothes into two battered duffel bags.
"We have to leave, Dominic," she said for the fifth time, her voice tight with panic. "You don't understand how Salvatore works. If the news is reporting that you humiliated the Barretts, Salvatore will already know you were at L’Auberge. It won't take him long to trace the cab. He has friends in every police precinct in the city."
"Let him come," I said calmly, taking a sip of the bitter coffee.
"Are you insane?" Elena dropped a stack of children's shirts onto the table, her hands trembling. "You have bodyguards! You have bulletproof cars! We have a second-floor walk-up with a broken deadbolt! Look at them, Dominic! They’re babies!"
"They are Morettis," I said, setting the mug down.
Leo stopped chewing his toast and looked up at me. "What’s a Moretti?"
I looked at my eldest son, reaching out to gently ruffle his dark, unruly hair. "It means nobody pushes you around, Leo. It means we protect our family. No matter what."
The boy's jaw set in that familiar, stubborn crease, and he nodded slowly, taking another bite of his toast.
My phone rang on the table. It was Dante.
I hit speakerphone. "Speak."
"We’ve got movement, boss," Dante’s voice came through, crisp and tactical. "Two black Chevy Suburbans just pulled onto the north end of Maverick Street. Rhode Island plates. Not our regular guys. Salvatore hired outside contractors from Providence. They don't carry Moretti badges, which means they aren't here to talk."
Elena let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.
The four boys instantly fell silent, sensing the sudden drop in temperature in the room. Mateo looked at Luca, both of them freezing with their spoons suspended in mid-air.
"How far out?" I asked calmly, standing up from the table.
"Two minutes. They’re double-parking near the bodega downstairs. Four men in the first truck, three in the second. Heavy armor."
"Take out the second truck's engine block," I commanded. "Don't let them box the alley."
"Copy that. Initiating contact."
The line went dead.
I turned to Elena. "Take the boys into the bathroom. Lock the door. Sit them inside the cast-iron bathtub and put the mattresses over them."
"Dominic—"
"Now, Elena!" I barked with the full authority of a commander on a battlefield.
She didn't argue. Her mother's instinct took over. "Boys, come with me right now! Game of turtles! Move, move, move!"
The boys scrambled out of their chairs without a sound, hurrying after their mother into the narrow bathroom. I heard the lock click, followed by the heavy thud of a mattress being dragged across the linoleum.
I reached beneath my arm, unholstered the Sig Sauer, and chambered a round with a smooth, deadly click.
Through the cracked window facing Maverick Street, the sharp, rhythmic crack of three suppressed rifle rounds echoed off the brick alleyway below, followed immediately by the squeal of tires and a muffled explosion.
Dante had taken out the first vehicle.
Heavy bootsteps were already thundering up the wooden stairs of 414 Maverick Street.
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Salvatore had made his choice. He wasn't just trying to intimidate me; he was trying to wipe out the bloodline before I could write them into the family trust.
I stepped into the shadow behind the front door, raised my weapon, and waited for the wood to splinter.
