Chapter 6 - The Bloodline
While Emily was navigating her strange, uneasy truce with the most powerful criminal syndicate leader in Chicago, another storm was quietly brewing on the other side of town—one that Vincent Moretti had spent fifteen years trying to ignore.
In a high-end, minimalist penthouse overlooking the Magnificent Mile, Dante Moretti poured himself a double shot of bourbon and slammed it down his throat.
Dante was thirty-two years old, built with his father’s broad shoulders and sharp jawline, but cursed with none of his discipline. He was a man consumed by bitter resentment, living in the colossal shadow of a father who viewed him as a disappointment—a reckless, entitled playboy who blew millions on high-stakes poker games, imported sports cars, and disastrous real estate speculations in Miami.
For years, Dante had tried to prove himself worthy of the Moretti empire, only to be systematically sidelined, corrected, and publicly humiliated by a father who believed mercy and weakness were synonymous.
Now, sitting in the dim penthouse with his phone glowing on the glass coffee table, Dante was staring at a dossier that had been delivered to him an hour ago by a disgruntled former employee of Moretti Holdings.
The dossier detailed everything.
The quiet acquisition of Metro-Chicago Health & Rehabilitation. The half-million-dollar trust fund deposited into an unknown woman’s account. The luxury apartment on Stockton Drive. The private medical team assigned to an obscure, dying librarian named Ruth Carter.
Dante’s fingers trembled as he turned the pages, his eyes locking onto a photograph of Emily Carter walking out of the Lincoln Park medical center.
“Old man...” Dante hissed, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. “After all these years... after every time I begged you for capital to save my developments... you drop half a million dollars on a nobody waitress because she yelled at you in a greasy spoon?”
The humiliation burned through his veins like acid. For over a decade, Dante had watched his father tighten the purse strings, treating him like an irresponsible child while retaining absolute financial control over every asset, trust, and subsidiary in the family portfolio.
Dante wasn't just broke; he was drowning in six million dollars of private debts owed to men who were far less forgiving than his father. If Vincent wouldn't bail him out voluntarily, Dante would have to find another way to force his hand.
And what better way to strike at the old man’s sudden, inexplicable soft spot than to target the woman he had just elevated to princess status?
Dante picked up his phone, dialed a direct, encrypted number, and waited for the line to connect.
“Bruno,” Dante said when a gruff voice answered on the other end.
“Yeah, Mr. Moretti? What do you need?”
“I need a couple of your boys tonight,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a cold, reckless register. “There’s a woman living in a penthouse apartment on Stockton Drive. I want you to go pay her a visit. Remind her that the Moretti family name comes with a price, and not everyone in this city is willing to play by the old man’s new rules.”
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“You sure about this, Dante?” Bruno asked, hesitation creeping into his voice. “Your old man finds out you touched his people, he’ll skin us all alive.”
“My father won't find out until it’s already done,” Dante snapped, his eyes wild with adrenaline and bitter envy. “Just do it. And make sure she understands who she’s messing with.”
