The Mirror In Back Baythe Brass Fixtures Of The Restaurant Washroom Gleamed Under Warm Ambient Lighting, Reflecting A Life I Had Built On Iron Control, Strategic Silence, And Absolute Obligation. At Thirty-Seven, I Was The Undisputed Head Of The Moretti Syndicate—A Man Whose Name Commanded Immediate, Hushed Compliance Across Boston’s Financial Corridors And Waterfront Docks Alike. Tonight Was Meant To Seal The Ultimate Alliance: