Chapter 7 - The Grandfather’s Verdict
The private study on the third floor of the Barrington estate smelled of aged bourbon, old leather, and cedarwood smoke.
Salvatore Vale sat behind a massive mahogany desk that had belonged to his father before him. At eighty-two, his hair was stark white, and his skin was lined like an old map of Sicily, but his dark, hooded eyes still held the terrifying, predatory intelligence of a man who had ruled the Chicago underworld for half a century.
He didn't look up when the heavy oak doors opened and I walked into the room. He simply swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass.
"You dismissed the judge's daughter," Salvatore said, his voice a gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. "A woman who could have given us complete immunity from federal oversight in the northern district. And instead, you dragged three screaming bastards and an old girlfriend into my house."
"They aren't bastards, Grandfather," I said, walking straight to the desk and planting my hands on the mahogany, leaning down to meet his gaze. "They are my sons. And Maya is their mother."
Salvatore finally looked up. His dark eyes locked onto mine, studying me with clinical, chilling detachment.
"A Vale does not let sentimentality dictate his alliances," the old man said slowly. "Camille’s father was going to clean our ledgers. Now, because of a sudden maternal attachment, you’ve declared war on the federal judiciary and Victor Thorne at the exact same time."
"Thorne is a footnote," I spat. "He's trying to muscle in on our shipping lanes because he thinks I'm distracted. I'll handle him."
"And the judge?" Salvatore raised a snowy eyebrow. "Judge Vance is already drafting emergency custody writs. He's claiming that raising children inside a known syndicate stronghold constitutes child endangerment. By sunrise tomorrow, federal marshals and local child services will be banging on our front gates with a court order to take those boys away."
A cold, heavy knot formed in my stomach. I knew how the system worked. Judge Vance had friends in every federal agency from Chicago to Washington. If he weaponized the family courts against us, Maya would be destroyed, and my sons would be placed in state custody while the lawyers tore us apart.
"He won't get the chance," I said quietly.
Salvatore leaned back in his leather chair, a faint, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Oh? And what brilliant strategy does my grandson have to outsmart a federal judge?"
"We don't outsmart him legally," I said, straightening up. "We checkmate him. I have the financial records of every bribe Judge Vance took over the last ten years channeled through shell companies in the Cayman Islands. Marcus pulled them from the secure server in the financial district this afternoon."
Salvatore’s eyes lit up with a flash of dark, approving pride. "Ah. The insurance policy."
"It's not an insurance policy," I corrected coldly. "It's a declaration of war. If Vance files a single paper against Maya or my sons tomorrow morning, those files go straight to the US Attorney's office and every major newspaper headline in the country. He'll spend his retirement in a federal penitentiary."
May you like
The old man chuckled—a dry, raspy sound that echoed off the mahogany bookshelves.
"Good," Salvatore muttered, raising his glass in a silent toast. "You finally sound like a Vale again, Adrian. Now... go downstairs. The mother of your children is pacing a hole into the rug of the East Wing, and if you don't calm her down soon, she’s going to take my security guards apart with her bare hands."
