Chapter 5 - The War CouncilBy 6:00 AM, the mansion had been transformed into an armed fortress.
The bodies of the hit squad had already been quietly removed by Mateo and his loyal cleanup crew, leaving behind only the chipped plaster and the lingering, metallic stench of cordite in the hallway.
Down in the subterranean war room—a high-tech, soundproof bunker hidden beneath the wine cellar—the air was thick with cigarette smoke and cold determination.
Around the steel conference table sat three men: Luca, Mateo, and Don Salvatore Moretti—Luca’s aging, ruthless uncle who had supposedly retired to Sicily five years ago, but had quietly flown in on a private jet within three hours of the attack.
I sat at the end of the table, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, holding a cup of black coffee that had long since gone cold.
Don Salvatore leaned forward, his weathered hands resting on his cane, his sharp gray eyes fixed on Luca.
“The Falcone family,” the old don growled, his voice like grinding stones. “They thought because you spent six months playing domestic househusband with your runaway wife, the Moretti throne was empty. They wanted to test the waters. They wanted your blood, your empire, and your unborn child.”
Luca sat at the head of the table, his elbows resting on the steel surface, his fingers steepened over his mouth. He hadn't slept a wink. His eyes were cold, dark pools of absolute obsidian.
“It wasn't just the Falcones,” Luca said quietly, his voice dangerously soft. “The tactical gear those men were wearing... the encrypted comms units... those belong to Vance & Sterling private security. Arthur Vance is backing them.”
My breath hitched. Arthur Vance. The same corporate syndicate patriarch who had tried to ruin my family years ago.
“Vance is a corporate shark, not a street boss,” Salvatore muttered, narrowing his eyes. “What does he have to do with the Falcones?”
“He wants the shipping lanes on the East River,” Luca replied evenly. “And he wants my independent biomedical investments. He figured if he wiped out my bloodline tonight, he could absorb my entire portfolio through legal loopholes and corporate shell companies before the week was out.”
Luca slowly lowered his hands and turned his head, locking his dark gaze onto me at the end of the table.
“Bella,” he said, his voice softening just a fraction, though the steel beneath it remained absolute. “You were right. Eight months ago, you told me that my world would always bring violence to our doorstep. You tried to protect our child by running away.”
I swallowed hard, gripping my coffee mug. “Luca…”
“Listen to me,” he interrupted gently, standing up from his chair and walking slowly around the table until he stopped right beside my chair. He knelt down on one knee, taking my trembling hands in his large, warm palms. “I can’t promise you a normal life in a suburban cottage with a white picket fence. Men like Arthur Vance and the Falcone bosses will never stop hunting us as long as my name is Moretti.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach. “What are you saying? Are you sending me away again?”
“No,” Luca said fiercely, shaking his head. “Never again. I am not sending you away. But I am finishing this war—once and for all.”
He looked up into my eyes with a chilling, absolute resolve.
“Tonight, we don't hide behind gates. Tonight, we take the fight directly to Arthur Vance and every last one of his co-conspirators. We dismantle their corporate empire, freeze their offshore accounts, and hand their entire criminal syndicate over to the federal grand jury on a silver platter. And when the sun rises tomorrow, there won't be a single enemy left breathing who knows our names.”
I stared at my husband, seeing the terrifying, beautiful monster who ruled New York—the man who would burn the entire city to ash just to keep our baby safe.
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And for the first time in eight months, I didn't pull my hands away.
“Show me the ledgers, Luca,” I whispered, my voice steadying with a cold, answering fury. “If we’re going to burn their empire to the ground, let me show you where to strike first.”
