Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Boardroom
The Northern Syndicate’s monthly meeting was held in a high-security boardroom in downtown Chicago. For twelve years, Luca had presided over these meetings via video call, his image projected onto a massive screen, his voice coming through speakers that flattened his tone into something detached and distant.
This time, the seat at the head of the table was empty.
Moretti sat in the chair to his right, leaning back, tapping a pen against the mahogany. He was laughing at a joke made by one of the captains. The entire room felt like a play, a well-rehearsed performance of loyalty masking a decade of betrayal.
"The dock shipments from the eastern sector are behind schedule," Moretti said, his voice booming. "Luca’s oversight has been... lacking. Perhaps it's time we consider a restructuring of the leadership."
"Is that so?"
The voice didn't come from the speakers. It didn't come from the screen.
It came from the shadow of the back door.
The boardroom went silent. Moretti’s pen stopped mid-air. He turned slowly, his face drained of color as the heavy oak door swung wide.
Luca Costello stood in the frame. He looked gaunt, pale, and he was leaning heavily on a cane, but his eyes—those ice-cold, calculating eyes—were fixed on Moretti with a predatory focus that hadn't been seen in over a decade. He walked with a heavy, deliberate gait, each step a testament to the agony he had endured to be there.
"I heard there was a suggestion for restructuring," Luca said, moving toward the table. His voice was stronger than it had been in years, carried by the sheer force of his presence.
Moretti scrambled to his feet, his hands trembling. "Luca? This... this isn't possible. The medical reports—"
"The medical reports were written by people you paid, Moretti," Luca said, finally reaching the head of the table. He didn't sit. He stood, towering over his traitor, his hand resting on the back of the chair that had been his cage for twelve years.
He leaned down, whispering so only Moretti could hear. "You thought you buried me in that chair. But you forgot the one rule of the Syndicate: you don't kill the king unless you're sure he won't wake up."
The captains in the room, men who had been waiting for a sign of weakness, now saw a man who had stared into the abyss of his own expiration and refused to blink. One by one, they turned their chairs away from Moretti.
"Security," Luca said, not looking away from his betrayer.
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The guards at the door—men Luca had hand-selected from the youth training programs—didn't look at Moretti. They marched straight to him and slammed him onto the table.
"Moretti is no longer in charge of anything," Luca announced. "Effective immediately, the Northern Syndicate is returning to its original protocols. And Moretti... Moretti is going to give me the names of everyone who profited from my 'illness'."
