Chapter 6 - The New Order
The boardroom on the forty-fifth floor was packed to capacity when Dominic Moretti pushed open the double doors.
Thirteen men sat around the long mahogany table—capos, union bosses, and financial advisors who had run the outer boroughs of New York for decades. When Anthony and Sterling had promised them a “modernized family” under new management, several of them had hedged their bets, leaning toward the promise of easy money and federal immunity.
Now, seeing Dominic standing at the head of the table looking like an avenging angel wrapped in a three-piece suit, the color drained from their faces. The room fell into a terrified, suffocating silence.
Dominic didn't sit down. He walked slowly around the perimeter of the table, his footsteps echoing like hammer blows against the polished wood. He stopped behind Paulie “The Brick” Santoro, a massive enforcer from South Brooklyn who had been the first to raise a glass to the “new era” two days earlier.
Dominic placed both hands on the back of Paulie’s leather chair, leaning down until his mouth was inches from the capos' ear.
“I hear the scotch was very good at the meeting on Thursday, Paulie,” Dominic whispered, his voice carrying clearly across the silent room.
Paulie swallowed hard, a heavy bead of sweat rolling down his thick neck, soaking into the collar of his white shirt. “Boss... Dominic... I swear to God, we were just—Sterling said you were gone—we didn't know—!”
“You didn't know because you were too busy looking at the prize instead of checking the foundation,” Dominic interrupted coldly. He straightened up, walking back to the head of the table where Grace stood holding the master ledger.
“The old code of the family wasn't built on backstabbing and corporate sellouts,” Dominic announced, his voice rising, resonating with absolute, unyielding authority. “It was built on loyalty, discipline, and absolute respect for the structure that feeds every single person in this room. That structure nearly collapsed because a few ambitious rats thought the ship was sinking.”
He pointed a finger down at the ledger open on the table.
“From this moment on, the docks belong to the Moretti Trust. No outside syndicates. No Brighton Beach shortcuts. And anyone who thinks they can negotiate behind my back will share a very long, very quiet boat ride with my cousin Anthony down to Cartagena.”
Silence reigned for three seconds. Then, Paulie Santoro was the first to stand up, bowing his head slightly in absolute submission.
“Understood, boss,” Paulie muttered. “The family is yours.”
One by one, every man around the table stood up, pledging their allegiance to the man who had risen from a hospital bed to reclaim his throne. Dominic nodded once, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
As the captains filed out of the boardroom in quiet, hurried succession, Grace remained standing by the desk, closing the leather ledger with a soft thud.
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“Well handled,” Grace remarked quietly.
“Power isn't kept by shouting, Grace,” Dominic replied, walking over to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee. “It’s kept by letting them remember what happens when you let go of the leash.”
