Chapter 5 - The War on Moretti SyndicateThree months after the night at the overpass, the criminal infrastructure of New York underwent a complete, historical restructuring.
Don Marcus Moretti—the bitter, sixty-year-old crime boss who had supplied Julian Miller with mercenaries—attempted to challenge Elias’s authority by launching a corporate boycott against the Vance family’s commercial shipping terminals in Brooklyn.
At 2:00 PM on a clear Tuesday afternoon, a fleet of ten black armored Maybachs pulled up to the glass corporate headquarters of the New York Maritime Board downtown.
I stepped out of the lead Maybach wearing an immaculate ivory silk pantsuit provided by Elias’s private stylist, holding three-month-old Maya securely in a fleece carrier against my chest, while Elias carried three-month-old Hope in his broad left arm.
Flanked by Marco and twenty armed Vance operators, we walked straight into the glass executive auditorium on the top floor.
Don Marcus Moretti sat behind the mahogany conference table, surrounded by four trembling attorneys and six armed guards.
When he saw Elias walk inside, holding a baby in his arm, flanked by his wife and an army of tactical operators, the color drained completely from Moretti's face.
"Elias...!" Moretti stammered, jumping out of his chair, his hands shaking frantically. "Listen to me! There’s been a misunderstanding! I had no idea Julian Miller was going after your woman!"
Elias didn't draw a gun. He pulled out an executive leather chair for me, settling me down safely at the table, standing beside my seat like an iron guardian holding our daughter.
Marco dropped a thick legal folder flat onto the glass desk in front of Moretti’s attorneys.
"As of twelve o'clock today," Marco announced cleanly, "the Vance Trust has acquired fifty-one percent of the primary mortgage bonds for Moretti Shipping Logistics. Furthermore, we have submitted certified bank records disclosing your illegal offshore wire transfers to federal prosecutors."
Marcus Moretti collapsed back into his chair, his jaw sagging open in total, speech-bound horror.
Two uniformed Federal Marshals stepped into the suite from the hallway, slapping heavy steel handcuffs around Moretti’s wrists, dragging his groveling, weeping frame out through the glass doors in chains.
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I looked down at Maya sleeping peacefully in her carrier, then looked up at Elias, who offered me a rare, breathtaking smile—a look of pure, sovereign victory.
The men who had called my daughters a curse were officially destroyed.
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