Chương 5 - The War Begins
By Wednesday afternoon, the peaceful silence of the Moretti mansion dissolved into a state of high alert.
From the third-floor balcony, I watched armed men in dark suits moving across the landscaped estate grounds. Black SUVs were parked in an armored line along the circular driveway, their engines idling.
At 2:00 PM, Valerie—a young, sharp-eyed woman who served as Vincent’s personal assistant—came to my room carrying three shopping bags filled with high-end women's clothing, leather shoes, and new dresses for Sophia.
"Don Vincent wants you dressed appropriately for dinner tonight, Miss Linwood," Valerie said, setting the bags on the bed.
"Dinner?" I asked, looking up from where I was helping Sophia build a block tower. "Is someone coming?"
"The captains of the five Chicago families," Valerie said calmly, smoothing her pencil skirt. "Don Vincent has called an emergency council meeting at seven o'clock. He wants you present."
My heart did a violent flip. "Me? Why would he want me at a meeting with the mob bosses?"
"Because Marcus Drake has made his move," Valerie revealed, her voice dropping. "When Julian Vance didn't return to his office yesterday, Drake took control of Vance Logistics. He sent an ultimatum to Don Vincent an hour ago: release Julian Vance within twelve hours, or Drake will leak forged documents to the FBI linking the Moretti family to illegal shipments at the docks."
I stood up, my hands trembling. "Marcus is playing with fire. Vincent will destroy him!"
"Vincent intends to," Valerie said flatly. "But the other four families are nervous. They rely on those docks for their own revenue. Some of the older captains think Vincent is risking a city-wide war over a personal dispute with a sub-contractor. Don Vincent needs to show them why Julian Vance is in his cellar."
At 6:45 PM, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom dressing area.
Valerie had selected a stunning, high-collared dark navy silk dress for me. It was elegant, tailored perfectly to my thin frame, and covered my neck and shoulders entirely. But the sleeves were designed with delicate, sheer lace that showed the faint outlines of my arm scars without exposing them completely—a subtle, powerful balance of vulnerability and dignity.
When I walked down the grand marble staircase toward the main dining hall, Vincent was waiting at the bottom step.
He wore a tailored black three-piece suit with a crimson tie. When he saw me, his eyes widened slightly, holding his breath for a split second.
He held out his arm to me. "You look extraordinary, Maya."
"I'm terrified," I admitted quietly, placing my gauze-wrapped hand on his forearm. His muscle felt like solid steel under the fine wool of his jacket.
"Don't be," Vincent whispered, leaning down so his lips were inches from my ear. "In that room, those men think they control Chicago. But tonight, they are going to learn that I rule it. Hold your head high, Maya. You are Richard Linwood's daughter. You carry a name that was honest long before these bastards existed."
He guided me through the double doors into the grand dining room.
Around a massive mahogany table sat four older men surrounded by their respective bodyguards. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars, rich Italian wine, and dangerous tension.
The room fell completely silent as Vincent led me to the head of the table, pulling out the velvet armchair to his right for me to sit.
"Vincent," a heavy-set man with silver hair and a thick Italian accent spoke up from the middle of the table—Don Saleri, the oldest captain in the city. "We came here to discuss the situation at Pier 42, not to attend a dinner party. Who is this girl?"
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Vincent sat at the head of the table, resting his hands flat on the polished wood.
"This," Vincent said, his voice ringing through the hall like a church bell, "is Maya Linwood. The rightful owner of Linwood Shipping, and the sole heir to Richard Linwood's estate."
