CHAPTER 25 THE MIDNIGHT MEETING
Dario stood in the dimly lit study of Vincent Moretti’s home, the air heavy with the scent of aged whiskey and polished leather.
The old man sat in his armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his sharp eyes fixed on Dario.
The tension between them was palpable, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface of their carefully measured words.
“You’ve been acting like you don’t need my approval,” Vincent said, his voice low but edged with authority. “Like you’ve forgotten who’s in charge.”
Dario didn’t flinch. He leaned against the edge of the desk, his posture relaxed but his gaze unwavering. “I haven’t forgotten. But I don’t need your approval to do what’s necessary for this family. You taught me that.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened. “You’re pushing boundaries, Dario. Testing loyalties. That’s dangerous territory.”
“Loyalty isn’t the issue,” Dario countered, his tone calm but firm. “The issue is power. And whether you’re willing to let me use mine to protect what’s ours.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m blind to what you’re doing? Consolidating influence, making decisions without consulting me. You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“It’s not a game,” Dario said, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. “It’s survival. The world’s changing, Vincent. If we don’t adapt, we’ll be left behind. Or worse.”
Vincent leaned forward, his grip tightening on the glass. “And you think you’re the one to lead us into this new world? You’re not the boss, Dario. Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t,” Dario replied evenly. “But I’m also not going to sit back and watch this family crumble because you’re too stubborn to see the writing on the wall.”
The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Vincent’s face flushed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Dario watched him closely, noting the way the old man’s hand trembled as he set his glass down on the side table.
“You’re out of line,” Vincent said, his voice strained. “You’ve always been too ambitious for your own good.”
“Ambitious?” Dario’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “No. I’m efficient. And right now, efficiency is what this family needs.”
Vincent opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, his face twisted in pain. He clutched at his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Dario straightened, his calm facade cracking for the first time.
“Vincent?”
The old man slumped forward, his body collapsing onto the floor. Dario moved quickly, crouching beside him, but it was already too late. Vincent’s eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, his face frozen in a mask of shock.
Dario sat back on his heels, his mind racing through the implications. A heart attack. Natural causes. Convenient, but not impossible. He glanced around the room, ensuring there were no witnesses, no cameras, nothing to suggest foul play.
He stood, his movements deliberate as he adjusted Vincent’s body to make the scene look undisturbed. He wiped down the glass Vincent had been holding, removing any traces of his own fingerprints. Then he stepped back, surveying the room one last time.
Satisfied, Dario turned and walked out, leaving the old man’s home as quietly as he’d arrived. The dawn light was just beginning to creep over the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty street.
He didn’t look back.
Dario stepped into the dimly lit back room of Moretti’s cigar lounge, the air smelling of tobacco and aged whiskey.
Vincent sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled, his expression unreadable.
Dominic leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual smirk absent.
Anthony fiddled with a lighter, his nervous energy palpable.
Evelyn Crane stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of the city outside.
Her presence alone was enough to make Dario’s jaw tighten. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“You’re late,” Vincent said, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority.
“I was handling something,” Dario replied, his tone even. He didn’t elaborate. Vincent didn’t need to know about the early morning visit to the old man’s house. Not yet.
Vincent’s gaze flicked to Evelyn, then back to Dario. “We’ve got a situation.”
Dario’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of situation?”
Dominic pushed off the wall, stepping forward. “The kind that involves your favorite ghost hunter.”
Evelyn turned at that, her sharp eyes locking onto Dario’s. “I’m not the problem here.”
“Then explain why we’re dealing with spectral signatures in our warehouses,” Dominic shot back.
Dario held up a hand, silencing him. “Specters? In our properties?”
Evelyn nodded, her expression grim. “I’ve been tracking an influx of paranormal activity in the city. It’s concentrated in Moretti-owned locations. Whoever’s behind this knows how to manipulate the dead.”
Dario’s thoughts snapped through options, though he kept his face impassive. He’d always understood the paranormal as a fringe element, something Evelyn dealt with in her own time. But this—this was deliberate. Targeted. Someone was using the supernatural as a weapon against the family.
“Misread the rules, didn’t you?” Evelyn said, her voice cutting through his thoughts.
He glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “What are you implying?”
“You’ve always treated the paranormal as a nuisance, something separate from the real threats. But this world isn’t as compartmentalized as you’d like to believe. The dead can be just as dangerous as the living.”
Her words landed like a blow, forcing him to reconsider everything he thought he knew. The rules of this world weren’t as clear-cut as he’d assumed. The supernatural wasn’t just a curiosity—it was a weapon, one that could be wielded with precision.
Vincent leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “We need to neutralize this threat. Quickly. Before it spreads.”
Dario nodded, his mind already working through the implications. “Understood.”
Evelyn stepped closer, her gaze intense. “You’ll need my help. This isn’t something you can handle on your own.”
He wanted to argue, to tell her he didn’t need her interference. But the truth was, he did. She knew this world in ways he didn’t. And right now, that knowledge was crucial.
“Fine,” he said, the word clipped. “But you follow my lead.”
She smirked, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. “We’ll see.”
Dominic snorted, shaking his head. “This is going to be a disaster.”
Anthony finally spoke up, his voice tentative. “What’s the plan?”
Dario glanced at Vincent, then back at Evelyn. “We find whoever’s behind this. And we make them regret crossing the Moretti family.”
The room fell silent, the weight of the situation settling over them. Dario felt the pressure acutely, the stakes higher than ever. This wasn’t just about protecting the family’s assets. It was about understanding a world he’d underestimated—and ensuring they came out on top.
Evelyn’s gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. “Don’t underestimate them, Dario. They’re playing by rules you’re only just beginning to understand.”
He met her eyes, his resolve hardening. “Then I’ll learn fast.”
The faint hum of the city outside seemed to echo his determination. The rules had changed. And he would adapt—no matter the cost.
Dario stepped into the dimly lit back room of the Moretti family’s social club, the faint scent of cigar smoke lingering in the air.
Vincent Moretti was already there, seated at the head of the polished mahogany table, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
The room was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices from the main hall.
Dario closed the door behind him, the click of the latch sealing them in.
“Vincent,” Dario said, his voice calm but deliberate. He didn’t wait for an invitation to sit, pulling out the chair opposite Vincent and lowering himself into it with the ease of a man who owned every room he entered. “We need to talk.”
Vincent leaned back, one hand resting on the arm of his chair, the other tapping the table with a rhythmic, almost impatient cadence. “Do we? Because it seems like you’ve been doing plenty of talking already. To Dominic. To Anthony. Even to Evelyn Crane, from what I hear.”
Dario didn’t flinch. “Family matters require family involvement. You’ve been... preoccupied. I handled it.”
“Handled it?” Vincent’s tone was deceptively mild, but the tension in the room thickened like storm clouds gathering. “You’ve been making decisions without consulting me, Dario. That’s not how this works.”
“It is when the decisions need to be made quickly,” Dario countered, his gaze steady. “The Albanians are moving. They’re testing our boundaries, and if we don’t respond decisively, they’ll take it as weakness. I acted to protect our interests.”
Vincent’s fingers stopped tapping. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his voice low and deliberate. “You acted without my approval. That’s a problem.”
“Your approval wasn’t available,” Dario said, his tone clipped. “And waiting for it would’ve cost us. You’ve delegated authority to me before. I used it.”
“Delegated authority,” Vincent repeated, his voice sharpening. “Not carte blanche. You’re not the boss, Dario. You’re the consigliere. There’s a difference.”
Dario’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. “I’m aware of my role. And I’m also aware that hesitation gets people killed. I won’t apologize for acting in the family’s best interest.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “And what about my interest? What about the fact that you’re undermining me in front of my own brothers?”
“I’m not undermining you,” Dario said, his voice firm. “But if you’re going to leave gaps in leadership, someone has to fill them. Dominic and Anthony needed direction. I provided it.”
Vincent’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a near growl. “You’re walking a fine line, Vitale. You think because you’re the smartest man in the room, you can operate above the rules? That’s a dangerous game.”