Chapter 9 - The Fall of the House of Moretti
Anthony Moretti stood under the halogen light, his heavy leather coat feeling suddenly suffocating.
He looked from Elena’s cold, beautiful face to Dominic’s stone-hard features, then down at Paulie Rossi, who was trembling so violently his teeth were chattering audible in the quiet night air.
“You brought a dead man’s daughter here to play accountant, Dominic?” Moretti sneered, trying to regain control of the room. “This is business! Your wife sold me those codes because she knew you were getting soft! You’re old, Dominic! You’ve been sitting in your fancy Manhattan restaurants while the real money moved through Jersey!”
Dominic didn't raise his hand. He didn't raise his voice.
He simply reached into his trench coat, pulled out a satellite tablet, and turned the screen toward Moretti.
On the screen was a live video feed showing a residential street in suburban New Jersey. Four black tactical vans were parked outside a sprawling, gated estate—Moretti’s private residence in Bergen County. Dozens of federal agents in blue windbreakers were systematically carrying out metal file crates and server towers under the glare of mobile spotlight units.
Moretti’s breath hitched in his throat. His silver cigar case slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the damp asphalt.
“What… what is that?” Moretti gasped.
“That is the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Financial Crimes Division, Anthony,” Dominic said softly. “Executing forty-two simultaneous search warrants across every real estate holding, warehouse, and bank account registered to the Moretti family in New Jersey.”
Moretti took a frantic step forward, but Vincent raised his weapon, the red laser dot settling directly over Moretti’s forehead.
“How?” Moretti shrieked, his face turning a mottled, ugly purple. “How did they get the warrants? The Jersey judges are in my pocket!”
“The federal judges aren't in your pocket, Anthony,” Elena spoke up, her voice ringing clear over the sound of the river water. “And the evidence wasn't submitted through Jersey. It was submitted directly to the United States Department of Justice in Washington, D.C., two hours ago.”
Elena stepped closer, her black leather boots clicking sharply against the pavement.
“I spent six years building the digital paper trail that connects your Atlantic City real estate shell companies to international racketeering, wire fraud, and illegal port access,” Elena said, looking down at him with pure, unadulterated triumph. “Every transfer, every signature, every bribe you ever paid to keep your family afloat—it’s all in the federal docket now.”
Moretti looked at her in absolute, terrifying shock.
“You… you gave it to the feds?” Moretti whispered. “You brought the government into our business?”
“It wasn't your business, Anthony,” Dominic corrected him, taking a step forward until he towered over the shorter man. “It was my city. And you tried to steal it using a traitorous wife and a corrupt accountant.”
Dominic looked at Paulie Rossi.
Paulie collapsed onto his knees on the cold asphalt, weeping hysterically, clutching his hands together in a desperate plea for mercy.
“Dominic! Please! I’ve served your family for twenty-two years!” Paulie sobbed. “Isabella threatened my children! She said Moretti would kill my family if I didn't override the port codes!”
Dominic looked down at Paulie with absolute disgust.
“You should have come to me, Paulie,” Dominic said flatly. “I would have protected your family. Now, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary sharing a cell block with Anthony.”
Dominic turned to Vincent.
“Call the local precinct,” Dominic ordered. “Tell them we’ve detained four armed trespassers on private port property, alongside a fugitive corporate officer. Let the police hand them over to the federal marshals when they arrive.”
“Understood, Boss,” Vincent said, signaling his men to disarm Moretti’s bodyguards.
Dominic turned his back on Moretti, walking slowly back toward the armored SUV. He stopped beside the rear door, turning to look at Elena, who was carefully sliding her financial files back into her leather briefcase.
“Miss Vance,” Dominic called out softly.
May you like
Elena looked up, her dark braid swinging over her shoulder, her face illuminated by the amber halogen light.
“Your work here is finished,” Dominic said. “Come. Let’s go collect what’s left of your father’s estate.”
