Chapter 7 - The Syndicate Summit
The Grand Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago was an ancient, gothic monolith of black marble, brass chandeliers, and bulletproof glass.
Once a year, the heads of the Five Families gathered in the hotel’s private subterranean ballroom—a neutral territory governed by ancient syndicate laws where no weapons were permitted, and all disputes were settled by the council of Dons.
By 9:00 AM, the street outside the hotel was lined with black luxury sedans, flanked by dozens of heavily armed guards wearing crisp dark suits.
Inside the private holding suite on the twelfth floor, I stood in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of a high-necked dark wool dress that Marco had purchased for me. Beside me, Lily wore a matching coat, her hair neatly braided.
She looked small in the massive suite, but her posture had changed. She no longer cowered behind my skirts. She stood beside me, her small shoulders back, holding her cream-colored teddy bear in one hand and my fingers in the other.
Matteo stepped out of the adjoining room, looking every bit the ruthless Don he was born to be. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal Italian suit that completely concealed the heavy bandages beneath. His dark hair was combed back, his face stone cold, his presence filling the entire room with an aura of absolute authority.
“The Commission has convened downstairs,” Marco reported, stepping into the room with a tablet. “Silas is already inside the ballroom. He brought his forged financial ledgers and three corrupted inner council members. He’s currently addressing the Dons, claiming you were killed during an internal security breach at your estate.”
Matteo’s lips curved into a dark, razor-sharp smile. “Is he?”
“He’s asking the Commission to officially declare him the interim head of the Varela family,” Marco added.
Matteo walked over to me, looking down into my eyes. He reached out, his large thumb gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Are you ready, Elena?” he asked.
“My name is Maya now,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “And yes. I’m ready to finish what my father started.”
Matteo nodded slowly, an unmistakable flicker of admiration flashing in his dark eyes. He looked down at his daughter.
“Lily,” he signed—a crude, hesitant attempt at the hand movements he had spent the last three hours practicing with me in the car. He raised his flat hand, touched his forehead, and brought it forward toward her—the sign for respect and daughter.
Lily’s eyes lit up with brilliant, sudden joy. She let go of her teddy bear, stepped forward, and hugged her father’s leg with all her strength.
May you like
Matteo picked her up in one smooth motion, cradling her against his chest, before looking at Marco.
“Open the doors,” Matteo commanded. “Let’s go present our evidence.”
