Chapter 6 - The Long Island Commission
The failed assault on the Moretti estate sent shockwaves through the New York underworld.
Victor Falcone had overstepped. In sending hitmen directly into another boss’s home, he had violated the sacred laws of the Commission. The older dons were furious, fearing that a full-scale war in the streets of Long Island would bring federal law enforcement down on all of them.
Three days after the attack, Aleandro summoned an emergency summit at the neutral estate of Don Carmine in Hamptons.
The grand conference room was lined with heavy mahogany chairs, occupied by the leaders of the Five Families. At the head of the table sat Don Victor Falcone—an eighty-year-old man with paper-thin skin, silver hair, and cold, ruthless black eyes that had ordered hundreds of murders over fifty years.
Aleandro walked into the room alone, wearing a tailored black suit, carrying a single leather folder under his arm.
“Aleandro,” Don Carmine grunted, motioning to an empty seat. “We are here to resolve the dispute regarding the Rossi survivor and the breach of peace on your territory.”
Victor Falcone sneered, adjusting his gold ring. “There is no dispute. The Rossi girl is a threat to the stability of the docks. Her bloodline was declared extinct twenty years ago by unanimous vote. Aleandro is harboring a ghost and risking all our businesses for a maid.”
Aleandro didn’t take his seat. He stood at the foot of the table, resting his hands on the back of a chair, glaring directly at Falcone.
“Elena Rossi is not a maid, Victor,” Aleandro said, his voice ringing through the room with absolute authority. “She is my betrothed.”
A heavy murmur went around the table. The other dons exchanged stunned looks.
“Betrothed?” Falcone spat, slamming his frail fist on the wood. “You marry a peasant? A survivor of a disgraced family?”
“She is the rightful heir to the Rossi estate and the Newark shipping docks,” Aleandro countered, pulling a thick stack of legal documents and property deeds from his folder and throwing them onto the center of the table. “Twenty years ago, you forged the land transfers after ordering the massacre of her family. My father kept the original deeds sealed in a vault in Zurich.”
Falcone’s face turned an ugly shade of purple. “Those papers are worthless!”
“They aren’t worthless to the federal prosecutors currently reviewing the corporate tax fraud attached to those docks,” Aleandro replied coldly. “I signed over fifty percent of the dock revenue to the Commission this morning. The rest belongs to Elena.”
Don Carmine picked up the deeds, reviewing them with a keen eye. He looked up at Falcone, his expression hardening. “Victor... you lied to us twenty years ago. You told us the Rossi family signed those docks over willingly.”
“He ordered a hit on my home three nights ago,” Aleandro added, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. “He brought automatic weapons into a house where my future wife and child sleep. He broke the code.”
Don Carmine looked around the table at the other three bosses. All of them gave a slow, unanimous nod.
“Victor Falcone,” Don Carmine announced sternly. “Your actions have brought dishonor to this table. You will surrender all claim to the Newark docks immediately. You will retire to your villa in Florida, and if you or your men step foot in New York again, the Commission will execute you ourselves.”
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Falcone sat back in his chair, breathing heavily, knowing he had lost everything. He glared at Aleandro with pure hatred.
Aleandro slowly leaned over the table, bringing his face inches from the old man’s ear. “If you ever even think the name Elena or Mia again... I won't wait for the Commission’s permission to gut you.”
