Chapter 5 - The Gathering of Wolves
The Cathedral of the Holy Name stood like a dark gothic sentinel in the heart of the city.
By nine o'clock the following morning, the rain had ceased, leaving Chicago draped in a heavy, suffocating fog that smelled of sulfur, diesel, and wet limestone. The streets around the cathedral had been closed by private security details from four different organizations. Black Lincolns, Cadillacs, and Mercedes lined the curb bumper to bumper, their engines idling in a low, collective growl.
Inside the cathedral, the smell of burning beeswax and frankincense could not mask the stench of tension.
Thirty men sat in the polished pews. Capos, underbosses, consiglieres, and foreign liaisons. The entire governing body of the Chicago Outfit.
At the front of the nave, near the altar where Christ hung suspended in gilt wood, sat Marco Rossi.
He looked every inch the statesman of crime. Tailored charcoal suit, silver hair swept back from high temples, a heavy gold signet ring resting on his knee. Beside him sat his brother, Roberto, whose right sleeve was buttoned tightly down to the cuff, concealing the burn marks Elena had left behind.
When the massive oak doors at the back of the nave groaned open, thirty heads turned simultaneously.
I walked down the center aisle alone.
I wore no overcoat, only a black three-piece suit. My hands were empty. My posture was relaxed, my chin held high, the rhythm of my leather-soled shoes echoing off the vaulted ceilings with the measured cadence of a funeral march.
Behind me, Lucian stood at the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest, two submachine guns hidden beneath his heavy wool coat. He did not enter; he simply blocked the only exit.
"Alejandro," Marco said, rising from his pew with an expansive smile that didn't reach his gray eyes. "We received your summons. The streets are whispering about a disturbance at your home yesterday. We were worried. I was about to deploy fifty of my boys to secure the perimeter."
"Were you, Marco?" I stopped five paces from him, my hands resting loosely in my pockets. "That’s generous of you. Especially considering the men who breached my gates carried the mark of the Corvo Syndicate."
A low murmur rippled through the pews. Capos glanced at one another.
Marco’s smile remained steady, though a tiny muscle near his left eye twitched once. "The Corvos? Filthy dogs. If they’ve crossed into our territory, we will hunt them down together, brother. Every last one."
"There is no need," I said. "They are already dead."
Roberto Rossi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand drifting toward his jacket. From the back of the cathedral, the sharp, metallic click of Lucian chambering a round caused Roberto to freeze instantly.
"We are in a house of God, Alejandro," Marco chided gently, spreading his palms. "There is no need for theatrics. Why did you call the Commission here?"
"To settle an estate," I replied.
"An estate? Whose?"
"Sofia’s."
The name hit the room like a cold draft. Marco’s expression hardened, the false warmth finally peeling back to reveal the predator beneath.
"Sofia has been at peace for five years, Alejandro. Let the dead rest."
"She isn't dead, Marco," I said, watching his face closely.
For a fraction of a second—a heartbeat—Marco’s eyes widened with pure, undisguised horror. He thought she had returned. He thought the woman he had burned alive had crawled out of the grave to point an accusing finger at him before the altar.
"What nonsense is this?" he stammered, recovering quickly. "You buried her yourself! We were there!"
"Her body was buried," I clarified, my voice carrying into every dark alcove of the cathedral. "Her blood, however... is very much alive."
I turned toward the side sacristy door.
"Bring them in."
The heavy carved door opened. Elena stepped out first, her chin lifted, wearing a clean black dress. Behind her walked Dr. Chen.
And between them walked four little boys in matching gray woolen coats.
The cathedral fell into a silence so absolute that the flickering of the altar candles sounded like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
Capos stood up from their seats, their mouths open. Old men who had served my father crossed themselves in superstitious dread.
The resemblance was undeniable. It was not a suggestion; it was an undeniable, living portrait of the Moretti bloodline replicated four times over.
"Holy Mother of God," whispered Don Carmine, the oldest capo on the South Side, his trembling fingers clutching his gold crucifix. "It’s... it’s Alejandro. It’s him as a boy."
"Marco," I said, stepping between him and the children. "You remember my wife's emergency delivery in Indiana? You remember telling me that the car bomb killed her instantly, before the ambulance could arrive?"
Marco said nothing. His skin had taken on the color of dirty snow.
Beside him, Roberto’s nerve broke completely. He reached for his weapon, screaming an oath, but before his fingers could clear leather, my Kimber was already in my hand.
*CRACK.*
The sound inside the church was deafening.
The bullet tore through Roberto’s right wrist, shattering the bone and sending his nickel-plated revolver skittering across the marble floor. He dropped to his knees, howling in agony, clutching a mangled, bleeding forearm.
Elena had turned the boys toward the wall the moment I drew my weapon. Mateo, however, peered around her hip, his eyes wide and completely unblinking.
"Dr. Chen," I said, without looking back. "Read the results."
Alistair Chen pulled a folded sheet of parchment from his coat pocket. His voice was steady, clinical, and loud enough to reach the highest gallery.
"DNA sequencing performed at zero-two-hundred hours this morning. Paternity index: ninety-nine point nine-nine-eight percent. Maternal match confirmed via preserved tissue samples from Sofia Moretti's post-mortem archive: ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent. Mateo, Dante, Leo, and Christian Moretti are the legitimate, direct male heirs to the Moretti family and the Chicago Outfit."
I stepped forward until the barrel of my gun was resting lightly against the hollow of Marco Rossi's forehead.
"You knew she had them," I whispered into his ear. "You spent five years searching for them so you could slaughter them in the dark and inherit my chair when I died of grief."
Marco looked at me, the arrogance draining from his eyes, replaced by the cornered viciousness of a dying animal. "You're a monster, Alejandro," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You would have dragged them into this sewer anyway. Look at you! Bringing them into a church full of murderers!"
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"I didn't bring them to a church to hide them, Marco," I said softly, cocking the hammer of the Kimber with a sharp, heavy *click*. "I brought them here to show the city who will be ruling it long after you are bones in a lime pit."
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