Chapter 11 - The Summit
The air inside the abandoned brick warehouse on the Brooklyn waterfront was thick with the scent of saltwater, dust, and impending violence. The massive iron doors were bolted shut, leaving only weak shafts of moonlight to pierce through the shattered dirty windows above.
I waited inside a reinforced security vehicle parked fifty yards away, my fingers tightly gripping the edge of the leather seat. Antonio had strictly forbidden me from coming to this meeting, but his enforcers had brought me along in the convoy as an extra layer of perimeter security—a precaution against any desperate splinter cells trying to strike at his weak point while he negotiated.
Through the tinted glass, I watched as Vincent Moretti—older, desperate, and sweating despite the freezing night air—stepped out of a black town car. He was flanked by two armed guards, their hands hovering nervously over their holsters.
Antonio stood near the center of the warehouse floor, completely alone, his hands casually slipped into the pockets of his dark overcoat. He didn’t look like a man facing his most dangerous rival; he looked like a king inspecting his domain.
“You’ve ruined me, Russo,” Moretti snarled, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “Every warehouse, every shipping lane, every judge on my payroll—gone in less than a week.”
“You crossed a line, Vincent,” Antonio replied, his voice calm, cold, and carrying absolute authority. “You touched an innocent civilian to get to me. In this city, that is a cardinal sin.”
“She’s just a waitress!” Moretti shouted, pointing a shaking finger toward the direction of the vehicles. “A nobody you dragged into a war!”
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“She is under my protection,” Antonio cut him off, his dark eyes flashing with lethal danger. “And because of that, your time in Brooklyn is officially over. You have two choices, Vincent: get on a private freighter leaving for South America tonight, or stay and watch what happens to the remainder of your men.”
Moretti’s face contorted with rage, but looking into Antonio’s unwavering gaze, he saw the grim reality. The empire was gone. Resistance meant death. With a defeated, hollow gasp, Moretti lowered his head and nodded.
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