Chapter 5: The Snake at the Gate**
Dawn arrived not with sunshine, but with a suffocating gray fog rolling off Lake Michigan. Just past 6:30 AM, the estate’s outer gate intercom buzzed. It was Don Carmine Moretti himself, arriving in a convoy of armored black sedans, expecting to find an empire in mourning and a throne ready for the taking.
Damon remained seated at the head of the dining table, wearing his immaculate charcoal suit, the orange pill bottle standing deliberately in the center of the table. He gestured for the house staff to open the heavy iron gates.
Carmine Moretti walked into the dining hall like an apex predator entering an empty cage. Flanked by four heavy-set enforcers, the aging mobster wore an expensive camelhair coat and an arrogant smirk. "Damon, my boy!" Moretti boomed, his voice dripping with faux grief. "I heard a terrible rumor this morning. Whispers that your fragile heart finally gave out. I came to pay my respects... and offer my guidance during this transition."
Damon took a slow, leisurely sip of water, allowing the silence to hang in the air until Moretti’s smile began to falter.
"You look remarkably lively for a man supposedly in cardiac arrest," Moretti said, his eyes narrowing as he took in Damon's calm, steady demeanor. His hand twitched toward his coat.
May you like
"You should fire your intelligence network, Carmine," Damon replied smoothly, gesturing toward the empty chair across from him. "Or better yet, stop hiring desperate men who crumble under the gaze of a child. Sit down. We have matters of life and death to settle."
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