Chapter 5 - The Council of Blood
The abandoned brick warehouse at Pier 44 was freezing cold, smelling of brine, rust, and old diesel fuel. Heavy rain drummed against the corrugated tin roof.
Inside, twelve powerful men sat around a massive iron table—the Capos of the Russo syndicate and representatives of the five Boston families. Armed guards stood three-deep along the perimeter.
At the head of the table sat Victor Russo, looking sleek in a double-breasted gray suit, his silver hair neatly combed back. He was sipping espresso from a porcelain cup, looking entirely unbothered.
"Dante has abandoned his duties," Victor announced to the room, his voice echoing smoothly. "He missed the Corvo summit. He’s chasing ghosts in the street. The grief from seven years ago has finally fractured his mind. For the stability of our business, I move that we stripped Dante of his title tonight."
The heavy double doors of the warehouse slammed open.
Dante stepped through the doorway, drenched in rain, wearing a dark trench coat. Behind him walked Nico and twenty heavily armed men whose loyalty to Dante was absolute.
"You always did talk too much, Uncle," Dante said, his voice cutting through the damp air like a blade.
Victor’s smile tightened, but he remained seated. "Dante. You bring soldiers to a diplomatic table? You've gone mad."
Dante didn't answer. He walked to the edge of the table, pulled a flash drive from his pocket, and tossed it onto the center of the metal surface. Vance plugged it into a portable projector, throwing a massive image against the brick wall behind Victor.
It was bank transfer records, recorded phone calls from seven years ago, and a signed confession from the retired Miami medical examiner.
The room erupted into mutters and shocked whispers among the Capos.
"Seven years ago, Victor staged the death of my wife," Dante declared, his voice ringing out over the murmurs. "He threatened to murder her and my unborn children to force her into hiding, using my grief to seize control of the shipping docks."
Victor stood up, his face reddening. "These are fabrications! Forgeries created by a man who cannot accept that his mistress died in a ditch!"
Dante walked up to Victor until there were only inches between them. The entire room went dead silent. Nobody dared to draw a weapon; the atmosphere was electric with lethal tension.
"She wasn't my mistress," Dante said softly. "She was my wife. And her daughters are the heirs to everything I own."
Dante turned to the sitting Capos. "Is there anyone at this table who stands with Victor?"
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One by one, the Capos lowered their eyes or leaned back in their chairs. The proof was absolute, and Dante’s power was absolute. Victor looked around the room, realizing in a horrific second that his authority had evaporated.
"Take him to the basement," Dante ordered Nico. "We aren't done talking."
