Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Inside the high-walled inner courtyard of the Moretti estate, over fifty high-ranking family members, street captains, and armed guards stood gathered under the pouring rain.
Luca Moretti stood in the center of the courtyard, surrounded by four of Marco’s heavily armed henchmen pointing rifles at his chest. Luca’s shirt was torn, blood trickling from a cut on his temple, but his posture remained rigid, his gray eyes burning with cold defiance.
Standing on the grand marble balcony above the courtyard was Marco Moretti, holding a glass of scotch, surrounded by his loyalist captains and Assistant Director Thomas Sterling of the FBI.
“Family members!” Marco’s voice boomed through the loudspeakers, echoing off the stone walls. “Tonight, my nephew Luca proved himself unfit to lead! He brought chaos and murder into our home! By the laws of our founding fathers, I hereby strip him of his title and assume full leadership of the Moretti enterprise!”
A murmur ran through the assembled captains. Some looked uneasy, but the sight of Marco’s armed guards kept everyone silent.
“Do you have any last words, nephew?” Marco mocked, looking down at Luca with a cruel sneer.
Luca wiped the blood from his cheek and looked up at the balcony. He didn't look defeated. In fact, he smiled.
“I don't need last words, Uncle,” Luca said smoothly. “Because you’re not talking to a nephew. You’re talking to a ghost.”
At that exact second, the heavy iron gates of the estate were blown off their hinges with a deafening EXPLOSION!
Smoke and fire billowed into the courtyard as three tactical vehicles crashed through the gates, their high-beam headlights blinding Marco’s men.
Out from the smoke stepped Samuel Walker.
Beside him walked Titan. And beside Titan walked me, holding the master dossier in my hands.
Shockwaves hit the courtyard. Men gasped, dropping their weapons in disbelief as they stared at the man who was supposed to have been dead for twelve years.
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“Samuel Walker...” Marco whispered, his face turning pale as paper, his scotch glass slipping from his fingers and shattering on the stone balcony.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Marco,” Samuel’s voice echoed across the courtyard, clear and thunderous. “Twelve years ago, you tried to burn me alive. You tried to sell this family out to corrupt law enforcement for your own greed!”
