Chapter 5 - The Reading of the Warrant
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He forced a dry, patronizing chuckle that rattled hollowly against the silence of the room.
"Alessandro, you're being theatrical," Dominic sneered, his gaze darting toward the two federal marshals flanking the entrance. "If you are unhappy with the catering vintage, we can open the reserve cellar. There is no need to disrupt our guests with armed federal agents."
Arthur Ross stepped forward, placing a thick, red-tabbed federal dossier directly onto the linen tablecloth right beside Dominic’s plate.
"The federal agents are not here for the catering, Dominic," Arthur Ross announced, his deep baritone carrying the cold finality of an executioner reading a docket. "You are formally served with federal arrest warrants issued under Cause Number 26-CR-9941 by the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York."
Dominic staggered backward two steps, knocking a silver ice bucket to the floor with a concussive crash. "On what authority? On what charges?"
"Forty-eight counts of federal enterprise racketeering under the RICO Act, grand testamentary fraud, the premeditated homicide of Salvatore Moretti, the premeditated poisoning of Marcus Hale, and the attempted capital murder of Alessandro Moretti and Vanessa Hale," Special Agent Sarah Lin declared with freezing clinical detachment.
Arthur Ross tapped his wireless stylus, illuminating the massive, eighty-inch projection screens mounted on either side of the ballroom.
The first slide displayed the high-definition infrared footage from the south garden gate:
Dominic Morelli, wearing his Brioni trench coat, handing the threat envelopes to Vanessa while threatening her sister Clara's life in London.
The second slide showed the decrypted wire transfers from Apex Sovereign Trust in Grand Cayman, routing forty-two million dollars into Dominic’s private holding accounts in Zurich.
The third slide was the forensic autopsy report from the New York State Police, confirming that Salvatore Moretti’s brake lines had been deliberately severed using specialized hydraulic shears found in Dominic’s private garage.
A collective, horrified roar of revulsion and fury swept across the two hundred guests.
Several veteran capos who had loved my father for forty years drew their weapons, their faces contorted in pure, unadulterated rage, before Luca Santoro stepped between them, raising a single hand to maintain discipline.
Dominic’s face drained of every drop of color, leaving his skin the sallow, grayish hue of wet lime.
He lunged toward the terrace doors, his right hand reaching frantically inside his jacket, but Luca Santoro moved with the explosive speed of a veteran operator.
Luca caught Dominic’s right wrist in an iron grip, twisting the arm behind his back, driving Dominic face-first into the mahogany table with a violent crash.
CLICK. CLICK.
The heavy stainless-steel handcuffs ratcheted shut around Dominic’s wrists.
Luca reached down, unbuckling the antique silver Vacheron Constantin watch from Dominic’s left wrist.
Luca walked over to where I stood, placing the heavy, cold platinum timepiece into my open palm.
I turned the watch over, feeling the familiar, worn grooves of my father's engraving warming against my skin beneath the chandelier light.
May you like
I looked down at the broken traitor pinned against the linen.
"You took my father's watch from his cold wrist on the highway, Dominic," I whispered, each word cutting through the breathless hall like a drawn razor. "And now you can spend the rest of your life counting the seconds in a federal cage."
