Chapter 9 - The Mott Street Summit
Thursday morning broke clear, cold, and bright over Little Italy.
At 8:45 a.m., four black Cadillac limousines were parked along Mott Street between Canal and Hester. Uniformed police officers stood on the corners, ostensibly directing traffic, but in reality ensuring that no civilian delivery trucks blocked the block.
The summit was held on the second floor of *Il Cortile*, in a private dining room with paneled mahogany walls, thick velvet drapes, and an oval conference table that had been brought up from the basement specifically for this gathering.
Seated around the table were the leaders of New York’s organized crime factions: old man Duca from Brooklyn, Salieri from the Bronx, the two Lucchese brothers, and representatives from Philadelphia and Chicago.
Victor Romano sat at the southern end of the table, impeccably dressed in his charcoal suit, with Dante’s father’s silver ring catching the light from the chandelier. He looked relaxed, exchanging pleasantries with Duca about his vineyard in upstate New York.
At precisely 8:58 a.m., the double oak doors opened.
Dante Moretti walked in.
He was alone. He wore a midnight-blue three-piece suit cut from heavy English wool. His collar was pristine white.
Around his neck was the severed black silk tie—the top two inches knotted tightly around his throat, the jagged, scissor-cut edge fraying against his collarbone, hanging down like an open wound.
The room fell dead silent.
Duca stopped mid-sentence, his fork hovering above his plate. The Chicago representative narrowed his eyes, his hand drifting instinctively toward his waistband.
Victor’s smile vanished. The color slowly drained from his cheeks until his skin matched the gray of his pocket square.
Dante walked to the head of the table, pulled out the high-backed leather chair, and sat down.
He reached into his breast pocket and produced a small crystal saucer. He set it gently in the center of the polished wood.
Inside the saucer lay the copper-colored electronic transmitter, its fine wires curled like the legs of a dead insect, along with Lily’s dolphin-handled plastic scissors.
May you like
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Dante said, his voice quiet, clear, and perfectly steady. “Before we discuss the distribution of the Brooklyn piers, I believe Victor has a radio broadcast he would like to share with the table.”
***
