Chapter 6 - The Commission
The Black Stone Club in downtown Chicago was a windowless subterranean fortress of dark marble, red leather, and cigar smoke. For fifty years, it had served as the neutral ground where the leaders of five major syndicates met to settle disputes, carve up territory, and order executions.
Grace stood beside Dominic in the center of the subterranean chamber, dressed in a floor-length dark velvet dress that hugged her frame, her hair pinned up in an elegant style that exposed her slender neck. Despite her elegant attire, she felt like a lamb led into a cave of wolves.
Around a massive round oak table sat seven men—the most dangerous criminals in North America.
At the head of the table sat Don Carmine, an eighty-year-old man with snow-white hair, paper-thin skin, and eyes like cold steel. Beside him sat Julian Moretti, a sharp-faced, oily man in a pinstriped suit, his fingers twitching nervously over a glass of scotch.
Four armed men stood behind each Don. Dominic stood alone with Grace, his hand resting casually inside his jacket pocket.
"Dominic," Don Carmine began, his voice raspy, like dry leaves sliding across pavement. "You bring a civilian woman into the high council. A waitress from a grease trap."
"She is under my protection, Don Carmine," Dominic stated, his voice ringing through the silent, smoke-filled room like a bell. "She saved my son's life."
Julian Moretti sneered, slamming his glass onto the table. "She's a distraction! Dominic has neglected his territories for three weeks! He spends his days learning dummy signs with a peasant girl while my business in Cicero is being harassed! He’s weak! His boy is broken, and now he’s lost his mind over a servant!"
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Dominic didn't raise his voice. He didn't draw a gun. He simply took three slow steps toward the table, stopping directly behind Julian Moretti's chair.
"Say that again," Dominic whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from Moretti's ear. "Say what you just said about my son."
Moretti went rigid. He looked at Don Carmine for support, but the old Don remained silent, watching the interaction with cold, calculating interest.
"I said... the boy is defective," Moretti choked out, trying to maintain his bravado in front of the council. "A boss needs an heir who can command, not a mute who needs hand signs—"
CRACK.
Dominic grabbed Moretti’s right hand, slamming it flat against the oak table, and brought down a heavy silver cigar cutter he had pulled from his pocket, severing Moretti's pinky finger in a single, brutal motion.
Moretti screamed, clutching his spurting hand, dropping to his knees on the marble floor. His bodyguards instantly drew their weapons, but before they could raise them, Dominic had pulled his sleek black pistol, pressing the barrel directly against Julian Moretti's temple.
"My son," Dominic said, his voice completely calm, completely terrifying, "is the heir to the Vale empire. And the woman standing behind me is under my personal oath. If any man in this room speaks of them with disrespect again, I will kill every person sitting at this table before your guards can clear their holsters."
A suffocating silence fell over the room. The bodyguards stood frozen, their guns half-drawn, terrified to make a move.
Don Carmine slowly raised a frail hand, gesturing for his men to stand down.
The old Don looked at Dominic, then shifted his gaze to Grace. He saw that despite the violence, despite the blood dripping onto the marble floor, Grace had not screamed. She had not run. She stood her ground, her chin raised, her hands steady, her eyes locked on Dominic with absolute, unyielding trust.
"She does not flinch," Don Carmine noted softly, a faint, sinister smile touching his thin lips. "She has steel in her spine, Dominic."
"She saved my heir," Dominic replied, holding Moretti down with his boot against the man's chest. "She stays with me."
Carmine leaned back in his leather chair, taking a slow puff from his cigar. "So be it. The Moretti family will forfeit their Cicero territories to the Vale syndicate as compensation for the unsanctioned diner attack. Julian will be retired."
Moretti whimpered on the floor, bleeding onto his expensive suit.
"And as for the woman," Carmine added, pointing his cigar at Grace, "if she is to remain in your house, Dominic, she must belong to your house. We do not allow outsiders to sit in our fortresses. Marry her, or remove her."
Grace’s heart stopped. She looked at Dominic in absolute shock.
Dominic slowly lowered his gun, stepping back from the bloodied Moretti. He turned his head, his dark, hypnotic eyes locking onto Grace across the room.
May you like
There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt.
"She is already mine," Dominic declared to the high council. "The wedding will be in two weeks."
