Chapter 5 - The Reckoning at Dawn
By six o'clock the following morning, the storm had passed, leaving the estate bathed in a crisp, cold dawn light.
The nine regional captains were summoned back to the estate’s formal dining room for an emergency meeting. Vincent’s lieutenants had called them, stating that an urgent declaration regarding the family’s future was to be made.
Frank "The Bull" Corradi entered the room, looking tired and thoroughly annoyed. “If Vincent thinks I’m signing over the Brooklyn docks at dawn, he’s out of his mind,” he muttered to his fellow captain.
The captains took their seats around the long mahogany table.
At the head of the table sat the high-backed leather chair, its rear turned toward the room, facing the tall windows overlooking the misty gardens.
“Where’s Vincent?” Frank demanded, looking around at the four armed guards standing silently by the doors.
The leather chair slowly rotated around.
Sitting in the chair was Lorenzo DeLuca.
He wore a pristine black suit, his dark hair combed back, his face stone-carved and terrifying. Though his wounds were heavily bandaged beneath his shirt, his posture radiated absolute, terrifying power.
Every captain in the room jumped to their feet, chairs scraping loudly against the parquet floor.
“Boss!” Frank gasped, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re... you’re alive!”
“Sit down,” Lorenzo commanded smoothly.
The power in his voice was absolute. All nine captains sat down instantly, not a single man daring to utter a sound.
Lorenzo snapped his fingers.
Marco stepped forward from the corner of the room, dragging a bound, gagged, and heavily bruised Vincent Romano, throwing him onto his knees in the center of the Persian rug.
A collective gasp echoed around the table.
“Vincent Romano attempted to execute a coup,” Lorenzo explained casually, pouring himself a cup of black coffee from a silver pot on the table. “He injected me with a paralytic, chained me in the cellar, and prepared to sell our family’s assets to the Moretti empire in Chicago.”
Lorenzo set his cup down with a soft click.
“He told you I vanished into thin air,” Lorenzo continued, his dark eyes sweeping over the captains. “He told you I fled. But the truth is, I was lying beneath your feet while you drank my scotch.”
Frank Corradi stood up, slamming his fist onto the table. “Traitors get the river, Boss! Give the word, and I’ll take care of him myself!”
“Not yet, Frank,” Lorenzo said, raising a hand. “Before Vincent leaves this world, I want him to understand who truly broke him.”
Lorenzo turned toward the side door of the dining room.
“Sophia. Bring her in.”
The door opened, and Sophia walked into the room, wearing a clean linen dress. She held Emma’s hand as the little girl skipped into the grand dining room, completely unfazed by the nine terrifying mob bosses staring at her.
Emma was holding a brand-new pair of pink safety scissors that Marco had bought for her at a local store.
Lorenzo leaned down from his chair, extending his hand to the toddler. Emma ran over to him happily, letting Lorenzo lift her onto his knee.
The sight of New York’s most feared crime boss cradling a three-year-old girl in the middle of a mafia tribunal left every captain speechless.
“This is Emma Rossi,” Lorenzo announced to his captains, his voice echoing with profound pride. “She is three years old. While Vincent was upstairs playing king, this child came down into the dark cellar, found me dying, and used her toy scissors to cut the bindings off my hands.”
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Lorenzo looked down at Vincent, who was weeping silently into his gag on the floor.
“You lost an empire, Vincent,” Lorenzo hissed softly, “because you forgot that the small people in this house have more courage than you will ever possess.”
