Chapter 10 - The Sovereign of Boston
Symphony Hall was illuminated like a palace of gold and marble.
Five hundred of New England’s most powerful figures filled the grand foyer beneath towering Corinthian columns and glittering crystal chandeliers. The governor was holding court near the grand staircase. Victoria Moretti stood near the private box entrance, surrounded by a phalanx of remaining corporate allies, looking pale but maintaining her icy, imperious smile for the society photographers.
Thomas Barrett and his daughter Sloane were standing near the bar, Sloane holding her champagne flute with white-knuckled rigidity, ignoring the whispered conversations rippling through the crowd.
Everyone knew the Moretti empire was on the verge of civil war.
At precisely eight-fifteen, the heavy bronze entrance doors of Symphony Hall swung open.
The chatter in the grand foyer died instantly. The string quartet playing near the mezzanine trailed off into an awkward, jagged silence.
Dominic Moretti walked in.
He looked magnificent. A midnight-blue bespoke tuxedo fitted to his broad shoulders, his dark hair immaculately styled, his inked neck barely visible above his stiff white collar. He possessed the terrifying, magnetic gravity of an absolute monarch.
On his right arm was Elena Rossi.
She was breathtaking. She wore an off-the-shoulder gown of sapphire-blue silk that swept the marble floor, her dark curls gathered into an elegant, timeless cascade, her head held high. On her left ring finger, the vintage sapphire blazed beneath the crystal chandeliers with blinding brilliance.
And walking behind them, walking two-by-two with matching navy tuxedos and miniature black bow ties, were four identical six-year-old boys.
Julian and Leo led the way, their small chins lifted, their dark eyes taking in the massive room without a shred of fear. Nico and Mateo followed, their hands neatly at their sides, their posture identical to their father’s.
The entire room seemed to forget how to breathe.
Photographers scrambled, their flashes erupting in a blinding, continuous strobe of light. Society columnists dropped their flutes.
Victoria Moretti turned white as a corpse. Her champagne flute slipped from her fingers, shattering on the polished marble with a sharp, resonant *crack* that echoed through the silent room.
Dominic didn't look at the crowd. He led Elena and his four sons straight down the center of the grand foyer toward the grand staircase where his mother stood.
The crowd parted before them in terrified reverence.
Dominic stopped at the base of the stairs, three steps below Victoria. Elena stood beside him, her hand resting gracefully on his forearm, while the four boys flanked their parents like miniature royal guards.
"Dominic," Victoria whispered, her voice trembling so violently it was barely audible. "What... what have you done?"
Dominic looked up at his mother. Then he turned slightly to address the entire hall, his voice carrying effortlessly into the cavernous, vaulted ceiling:
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dominic announced, his tone calm, resonant, and absolute. "Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Elena Rossi Moretti. And my four sons: Julian, Leo, Nico, and Mateo Moretti. The sole and legitimate heirs to the Moretti estate."
A collective, stunned gasp swept through the five hundred guests.
Dominic turned his gaze back upon Victoria, his dark eyes locking onto hers with merciless clarity.
"As of seven o'clock this evening, the probate courts of Massachusetts have officially certified their bloodline," Dominic continued. "The trust accounts established by my grandfather have transferred one hundred percent of their executive voting authority to my family. The merger with the Barrett holdings is null and void. The future of this city belongs to these four boys."
Thomas Barrett stepped forward from the bar, his face twisted in rage, his finger pointing at Dominic. "Moretti! You cannot rewrite the financial landscape of this state with four bastards—"
Dominic took half a step forward.
The movement was so sudden, so coiled with lethal power, that Barrett choked on his own words and took an involuntary step back into the arms of his security detail.
"Choose your next word with extreme care, Thomas," Dominic said softly, the quiet menace in his voice freezing every person within twenty feet. "Because the next word that leaves your mouth will determine whether your shipping company retains its corporate charter by tomorrow morning."
Barrett shut his mouth. He looked at the four boys standing proudly beside their father, seeing the unmistakable Moretti steel in their young eyes, and realized the war was already lost. He grabbed Sloane’s arm and retreated through the side exit into the night.
Dominic turned back to Victoria.
"Your car is waiting outside, Mother," Dominic said, his voice dropping into a private, final register. "Marcus has your luggage packed at the estate. You are retiring to our villa in Tuscany. You will not return to Boston. You will not attend board meetings. And you will never see these boys again."
Victoria looked down at her four grandsons.
Leo looked up at her. The six-year-old child pushed his dark hair back from his forehead, tilted his head slightly to the right, and looked at the woman who had tried to erase him with an expression of pure, unbothered Moretti disdain.
Victoria’s knees buckled slightly. Her empire was gone. Her authority was dust. Without another word, she gathered her midnight-blue velvet skirts and walked down the side stairs, slipping through the shadows of Symphony Hall like an extinguished ghost.
Dominic turned back to his family.
He looked down at Elena. Her eyes were shining with tears of relief and triumph. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips, right there beneath the blinding flash of fifty news cameras and the gaze of the entire Boston elite.
When he pulled back, Julian tugged on the hem of his tuxedo jacket.
Dominic knelt down, his expensive silk trousers brushing the marble floor, bringing himself eye-to-eye with his sons.
"Yes, Julian?" Dominic asked softly.
The boy looked around the grand, glittering palace of Symphony Hall, then looked at his father with a wide, fearless grin.
"Do we own this place now, Dad?"
May you like
Dominic looked at his four sons, then reached out and placed his hand gently over Elena’s sapphire ring.
"We own the whole city, son," Dominic said, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "And no one will ever take it from us again."
