Bronx – Cavallaro Mansion
The streets of the Bronx were quieter than usual. It wasn't fear. It was anticipation. When a Moretti ventured into enemy territory without an army behind him, it meant something important was at stake… or he didn't expect to come back alive.
Giovanni stepped into the Cavallaro mansion, home to one of the Bronx's oldest and proudest families. At his side were Geronimo Rinaldi and Salvatore Greco — both unarmed, at least visibly. It was a sign of respect. Or an act of faith.
In the main hall, old Don Angelo Cavallaro was waiting, surrounded by his men. His face looked carved from stone.
"So, the southern boy came to talk peace," he said.
Giovanni gave a slight nod.
"I came to talk business. And to cut out the rot that's poisoning our roots."
Cavallaro studied him carefully.
"Rosso?"
"Rosso."
Giovanni placed a sealed envelope on the table, bearing the Moretti family crest. Don Cavallaro read it in silence. Inside, Don Salvatore had signed his consent for Giovanni to speak and act on his behalf during the negotiation.
"The Moretti family," Giovanni said, "will not touch an inch of the Bronx, Harlem, or Queens for the next ten years. No gambling dens, no protection rackets, no buying cops outside of the Lower East Side and Little Italy."
Don Angelo raised an eyebrow.
"And what do you want in return?"
"Rosso. And everything that's his. His men, his routes, his weapons. He's a threat to all of us, not just to my family. What he did to Luca Brasi, what he tried to do to my father… he didn't do it out of ambition. He did it out of stupid greed and fear."
Silence followed.
One of Cavallaro's lieutenants finally spoke.
"And if we refuse?"
"Then Rosso hides under your shadow. And when we go after him, the Bronx turns into a war zone. Neither you nor we will come out unharmed."
Don Angelo rose slowly.
"Rosso was useful once. A rabid dog to scare the young ones. But a dog that bites the hand that feeds him must be put down."
He looked Giovanni in the eyes.
"You have your deal. The Bronx will honor the ten years… but whoever breaks it will pay with blood."
Giovanni extended his hand.
"Then it's sealed."
The old man shook it, unsmiling.
"Take him. Make him suffer. But don't let his blood splash on us."
That same night, a van with its lights off parked in front of Rosso's last hideout on Arthur Avenue. Inside, five of his bodyguards slept forever — killed by their own allies.
Rosso was delivered blindfolded to the alley behind a club in Little Italy.
Luca Brasi was waiting for him there, knife in hand… and a smile that never reached his eyes.