Chapter 5 - The Romano Ultimatum
The gravel of the circular driveway crunched under the heavy tires of four armored Cadillac Escalades.
Before the engines had even cooled, six men in tailored dark wool coats stepped out, their hands resting deliberately near the lapels of their jackets. From the center vehicle stepped Vincent Romano. At sixty-two, the Chicago Don was a predator preserved in brine—silver hair combed straight back, eyes like dull steel, and a posture that spoke of decades commanding men who killed for sport.
Beside him walked Isabella, her face twisted in venomous triumph. She had met her father at the outer gatehouse, poisoning the well before Vincent had even set foot inside the mansion.
Alessandro stood at the top of the grand marble staircase leading to the estate’s front entrance. He was alone, hands resting casually in his trouser pockets. Behind him, concealed in the shadowed alcoves of the second-floor portico, four Moretti snipers held their crosshairs centered on the foreheads of Vincent Romano’s vanguard.
“Vincent,” Alessandro called out, his voice carrying clearly across the crisp autumn air. “You didn't call ahead. Chicago manners must be deteriorating.”
Vincent Romano did not smile. He ascended the stone steps slowly, his cane tapping rhythmically against the granite until he stood three paces from Alessandro.
“I don’t call ahead when my daughter is evicted from her bridal suite like a common whore, Moretti,” Vincent rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves crushed under boots. “What is this circus?”
“Your daughter forgot where she was,” Alessandro said evenly. “She screamed at a child under my roof. In my house, that earns an eviction. She should consider herself fortunate that she walked out on her own two feet.”
Isabella stepped forward from behind her father, her voice shrill. “Tell him, Father! Tell him about the maid! He threw away the alliance for a Mexican scrubwoman and a gutter brat!”
Alessandro’s eyes flicked to Isabella. The temperature on the terrace seemed to plunge ten degrees. “Speak of them again, Isabella, and your father will take you home in a wooden box.”
The Romano bodyguards shifted instinctively, their hands reaching inside their coats. Instantly, the soft, metallic clicks of twenty semi-automatic rifles echoed from the roofline and the upper balconies. Red laser dots danced across the chests of the Chicago men.
Vincent held up a single gloved hand, freezing his guards in place. He stared into Alessandro’s unblinking eyes.
“You’re bluffing, boy,” Vincent whispered. “You need Chicago. The Five Families in New York are fracturing. The Colombos are cutting into your docks. If you break this engagement, you fight a two-front war. You will be wiped out before the winter snows melt.”
“I have fought two-front wars since I was twenty-two, Vincent,” Alessandro said coldly. “I don't need Chicago. Chicago needed my ports to move their fentanyl and steel out of the Great Lakes. You came to me begging for an alliance because the feds had your northern corridor locked down.”
Alessandro reached into his inner jacket pocket. Vincent’s guards tensed, but Alessandro merely withdrew a folded white document bearing the embossed seal of the New York State Department of Health and Dr. Sergio Valenti’s private signature.
He tossed the document against Vincent Romano’s chest. The older man caught it, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the clinical text.
*Paternity Probability: 99.98%. Biological Father: Alessandro Cesare Moretti. Biological Mother: Rosa Mendes. Child: Lilianna Elena Moretti.*
Vincent’s jaw tightened. The paper crinkled in his fist.
“She is my legitimate blood,” Alessandro announced, loud enough for every man in the courtyard to hear. “She was conceived before your daughter ever set foot in New York. Under the ancient laws of the Commission, a direct blood heir takes precedence over any contractual betrothal. The Moretti line is secured. Our alliance is finished.”
“You cannot do this!” Isabella shrieked, clawing at her father’s arm. “Father, kill him! Kill them all!”
Vincent Romano turned and struck his daughter across the face with the back of his hand.
The crack echoed like a pistol shot across the stone courtyard. Isabella collapsed onto the steps, her hand clutching her bleeding lip, shock and terror freezing her voice.
“Silence, you fool,” Vincent hissed, not even looking down at her. He turned his dead eyes back to Alessandro. “You played me, Moretti. You kept this child in the dark until you secured the waterfront contracts, and now you cast my family aside.”
“I played no one,” Alessandro said. “I learned the truth this morning. But now that I know it, heaven and earth will not move me. Take your daughter and get off my land. If a single Romano car is seen south of Albany by nightfall, we consider it an act of war.”
Vincent Romano stared at Alessandro for five long seconds. Then, slowly, he tore the medical document in half and let the pieces flutter onto the marble.
“War it is, Alessandro,” Vincent said softly. “Keep the brat close. The world is a very dangerous place for little girls.”
May you like
Alessandro did not flinch. His voice dropped into a register of cold, demonic certainty. “If you touch one hair on her head, Vincent, I will not just kill you. I will erase your entire bloodline from the history of Chicago. Now get out.”
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