Chapter 15 - The Chicago Envoy
The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel had been booked under a dummy corporation.
The neutral ground had been established fifty years ago: no live weapons past the metal detectors, only five bodyguards per family, and absolute diplomatic immunity until the sun set.
Luca entered the ballroom like a storm walking on two legs. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, an onyx signet ring on his finger, and a black silk tie. But what drew the gasps of every mobster and capo gathered in the room was the woman on his arm.
Luna looked breathtaking. She wore an emerald-green gown made of heavy Italian velvet that draped around her curves like liquid jade, perfectly matching the priceless Moretti pendant resting against her collarbone. Her hair was styled in an elegant, intricate crown of braids, her posture rigid, elegant, and regal. She didn't look like a maid who had scrubbed floors; she looked like a queen who had conquered kingdoms.
Across the room, sitting at the head of a massive round table, was the Chicago delegacy.
And at its center sat Dante "The Butcher" Vance.
Dante was an imposing man in his late thirties, with a jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow and hair trimmed down to the skin. Unlike the New York dons who dressed in traditional Italian elegance, Dante wore a modern, cutthroat three-piece suit without a tie, exuding the violent energy of a street-level brawler who had murdered his way to the top of the Midwest syndicate.
To Dante's right sat Don Bellini, Gianna’s father, looking smug and vicious.
"Moretti," Dante called out, his voice a low, raspy rumble that cut through the murmur of the room. "I was beginning to think you were too busy hiding in your compound to face the Commission."
Luca pulled out a velvet-lined chair for Luna, waiting until she was seated comfortably before sitting beside her. He leaned back, resting his wrists on the table, completely unbothered by the dozens of hostile eyes glaring at him.
"I had to clean up some trash in my kitchen this morning, Vance," Luca said smoothly. "A Chicago rat thought he could slip poison into my coffee. His skin is currently hanging from a hook in my meat locker. Did you want it returned, or should I donate it to charity?"
Don Bellini’s jaw tightened, but Dante merely grinned, revealing a row of sharp, predatory teeth.
"Loyalty is cheap these days," Dante shrugged, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the polished wood. "Cost of doing business. But we aren't here to talk about house staff. We're here to talk about the future of New York."
"There is no discussion," Luca replied cold as stone. "My father built this territory. I rule it. You want a percentage of the shipping docks? You pay the twenty percent tariff, or your cargo stays stranded in international waters."
Dante tapped his fingers on the table. "Your father is a vegetable, kid. And you? You're an arrogant boy who just broke the oldest treaty on the East Coast." Dante shifted his dark, predatory gaze onto Luna. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the curve of her throat with an obscene, naked hunger. "You threw away an alliance with the Bellinis for... what? A piece of domestic help?"
A lethal chill swept over the room. Enzo and the Moretti guards stepped forward, their hands twitching toward their hidden armpits.
Luna felt the blood rush to her ears, but before Luca could erupt, she spoke.
"Mister Vance," Luna said, her voice clear, melodious, and carrying to every corner of the silent ballroom.
Dante raised an amused eyebrow. "The help speaks?"
"The help knows how to read an audit," Luna replied calmly, leaning slightly forward. "You talk about strength, but three months ago, your primary distribution warehouse in Gary, Indiana, was seized by federal agents. You lost forty million dollars in raw fentanyl. The only reason your Chicago lieutenants haven't put a bullet in your head yet is because you promised them you would secure the New York ports to recover the deficit."
Dante’s smile instantly vanished.
Don Bellini blinked in shock, glancing at Dante with sudden suspicion. The capos around the room began to murmur among themselves.
Luna continued, her tone polite, surgical, and devastating. "You aren't here because you want to punish Luca for breaking an alliance. You're here because you're drowning, Mister Vance. And you're trying to use New York blood to bail out your sinking ship."
Luca let out a dark, low chuckle. He looked at Dante with pure, unadulterated contempt.
"You came to my city broke," Luca sneered. "And you dare speak her name?"
Dante slowly stood up, the chair scraping violently against the hardwood. His face had flushed a dangerous, mottled red. The Chicago bodyguards immediately reached into their jackets, ignoring the neutral-ground protocol.
"You think you're clever, girl?" Dante snarled, pointing a thick finger at Luna. "You think this pretty face is going to save you when the shooting starts? Here is my counter-offer, Moretti."
Dante slammed his heavy palms onto the table, leaning right into Luca’s face.
"Give me the girl," Dante demanded, his voice thick with lust and spite. "Hand the maid over to Chicago as a gesture of submission. Let my men use her for a week to remind you of your place. Do that, and I'll let you keep the ports. Refuse... and I will butcher every Moretti breathing and take her anyway."
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In a fraction of a millisecond, before anyone could breathe, Luca’s hand shot across the table, grabbed a heavy crystal water tumbler, and smashed it directly into Dante’s face.
***
