Chapter 6 - The Broken Circle
The reaction was instantaneous. Matteo’s hand stopped two inches from Leo’s cheek. The color drained from his face so quickly that his skin took on a gray, chalky texture beneath the golden light of the chandelier.
"What did you say?" he whispered, his voice losing its theatrical smoothness.
Behind him, Alessio stood up. The heavy walnut chair didn't just scrape; it tipped over backward, crashing against the oak floorboards with a sound like thunder. The three Capos closest to the door immediately moved their hands inside their jackets.
"She said the child is sensitive to poison, Matteo," Alessio said, walking down the length of the table. The men moved out of his way, their faces turning into masks of cold calculation. They knew the shift had occurred. They knew the dinner was over.
"You're losing your mind, Alessio," Matteo said, taking a step back toward the center of the room, his eyes darting toward the windows. "You're listening to the fairy tales of a hired servant. I came here in good faith to discuss the Cicero lines."
"Dominic," Alessio called out without looking away from his cousin. "Bring the ledger."
The double doors at the back of the hall opened, and Dominic walked in, holding Elena by the arm. She was no longer wearing her silk robe; she was dressed in a gray prison tracksuit from the estate's holding wing, her face swollen from crying, her hair matted with sweat.
Matteo looked at her, and the last remnants of his arrogance vanished.
"He told me to do it, Alessio!" Elena screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Matteo. "He gave me the blue beads! He said they were treated with the numbing agent from the Valenti labs! He promised me the New York accounts would be cleared by Tuesday!"
"You miserable bitch," Matteo hissed, reaching into his waistband.
He never cleared the leather. Dominic was on him before his hand could register the movement. The massive security chief grabbed Matteo’s wrist, twisted it until the bone gave a sickening crack, and slammed his face down onto the walnut dining table, right into the center of the silver veal platter.
The wine glasses overturned. The Barolo spilled across the white linen, looking exactly like blood under the crystal light.
The Capos stood up in unison, their chairs clattering. No one drew a weapon. They didn't need to. The judgment had already been delivered by the evidence on the table.
"Matteo Romano," Bruno said, spitting onto the floor near Matteo’s twisted arm. "You brought a New York poison into a Chicago cradle. You are no longer family. You are a dog that needs to be buried."
Alessio walked to the edge of the table, looking down at his cousin whose face was pressed into the grease of the meat plate. He didn't look angry; he looked profoundly bored by the stupidity of the betrayal.
"Take him to the east garage, Dominic," Alessio ordered softly. "Call Don Valenti on the secure line. Tell him his investment in the Mon Valley has just been liquidated. If he wants the remains of his nephew-in-law, he can buy them back from the city morgue for four million dollars—the exact amount of Elena’s debt."
"Alessio, please!" Matteo choked out, his nose bleeding against the silver platter. "We grew up in Cicero together! Your father gave me my first car!"
"My father also told me that if a wolf enters the nursery, you don't give it a car, Matteo," Alessio said, turning away. "You give it thirty grains of lead."
He looked at me as Dominic dragged the screaming man out through the service door. The room was silent now, save for the heavy breathing of the older Capos.
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"Are you all right, Clara?" Alessio asked.
"The patient is stable, Mr. Romano," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs, though my voice remained as cold as ice. "But the room needs to be cleaned. It smells like garbage."
