Chapter 5 - The Patriarch's Wrath
|
The Moretti ancestral estate in Lake Forest sat behind iron gates that had stood for nearly a century.
Inside the grand library, smelling of aged tobacco and mahogany, an old man sat behind a carved desk.
Don Salvatore Moretti was seventy-eight years old, with eyes like chipped flint and a spine that refused to bend.
He had built the family empire with iron fists and strict adherence to the old Sicilian code.
Across the room, Vincent stood with his head bowed, the first time he had ever displayed deference to anyone.
On the mahogany desk lay the morning edition of the Chicago Tribune and a certified legal summons from Arthur Vance.
“You disgraced this family,” Salvatore said, his gravelly voice slicing through the heavy silence.
“Grandfather, it’s a private domestic dispute,” Vincent attempted to explain, though his voice lacked conviction.
The old man stood up with shocking agility, crossing the Persian rug before Vincent could react.
Salvatore struck Vincent across the face with an open palm, the sound echoing like a pistol crack against the wood paneling.
Vincent’s head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening, but he did not dare raise a hand in defense.
“A private dispute?” Salvatore snarled, stepping into his grandson’s personal space.
“You left your pregnant wife to bleed like an animal in a public hospital while you paraded that Reynolds girl around my birthday banquet!”
“People were whispering at the tables, Vincent.”
“The captains were watching you pamper a mistress while the future heir of this house suffocated in his mother’s womb.”
“Sophia is not my mistress,” Vincent muttered through gritted teeth.
“Her father died serving this family!”
“Her father was a soldier who knew his place!” the Don roared, slamming his fist onto a side table.
“Sophia Reynolds is a parasite feeding on your foolish guilt.”
Salvatore turned his back on Vincent and walked toward the high arched windows overlooking the manicured grounds.
“The code of this house is simple: Family first, blood above all, loyalty unto death.”
“You broke every single tenet in one evening.”
“Claire Bennett gave you five years of unquestioning loyalty, and you treated her like an inconvenient house ornament.”
Vincent felt a sickening knot twist in his gut.
He had expected anger, but the profound disgust in his grandfather’s voice was unbearable.
“I am trying to fix it,” Vincent said desperately.
“I offered her everything.”
“I bought her properties, I offered to put all commercial assets in her name.”
“You cannot buy back honor with paper, you fool!” Salvatore snapped, turning back around.
“Claire has more dignity in her little finger than you have in your entire six-foot frame.”
The old man leaned heavily against his silver-topped cane, his gaze turning deadly cold.
“Effective immediately, your authority over the shipping docks and downtown real estate is suspended.”
Vincent’s eyes widened in shock.
“Grandfather, those are my primary operations!”
“They belong to the Moretti bloodline,” Salvatore corrected coldly.
“And until you secure your son’s legal standing and resolve this catastrophe with your wife, you are a soldier on probation.”
“As for Sophia Reynolds, she is stripped of her family stipend and barred from setting foot on any Moretti property.”
“If I see her face at another family gathering, I will have her put on a bus out of this state permanently.”
Vincent stood frozen, stripped of his pride, his rank, and his peace of mind in a single afternoon.
“Go to your son,” Salvatore commanded, waving a dismissal with his liver-spotted hand.
May you like
“And pray to whatever God you believe in that Claire does not decide to ruin you completely.”
Vincent walked out of the dark estate, realizing that every pillar of his carefully controlled life was crumbling around him.
