Chapter 5 - The Grand Hotel Summit
The ballroom of the Grand Hotel was filled with dark suits, glinting diamond rings, and armed guards standing along every velvet-draped wall. The leaders of the six major crime families sat around a massive mahogany round table, drinking expensive scotch while their enforcers stood behind them.
At the head of the table sat Don Carmine Donato—a heavy, bald man in his late sixties with small, cruel eyes and a silver cane resting against his chair.
The heavy double doors of the ballroom burst open.
Damian Marchetti stepped inside.
He looked magnificent in a charcoal-grey tuxedo, his posture commanding absolute dominance. But what caused every mob boss in the room to gasp and freeze in their seats was the woman walking beside him.
I walked into the room dressed in a stunning, high-necked emerald velvet gown, my dark hair styled in elegant waves over my shoulders. In my arms, I carried little Sophia, who wore a matching cream dress. Beside us walked Marcus, holding Leo and Mateo, both dressed in tiny grey suits identical to Damian’s.
"Damian!" Donato sneered, leaning forward on his cane. "You bring women and children to a Syndicate Council? Have you lost your mind?"
"I bring my family to face my accusers, Donato," Damian replied, his voice echoing clearly across the vast ballroom as he pulled out a chair for me at the head of the table.
I sat down, setting Sophia on my lap, holding her close as the six mob bosses stared at us with sharp, calculating eyes.
"We are here to discuss Julian’s estate!" Donato barked, slamming his hand onto the table. "Word on the street is those triplets were bought off a hospital ward! They don't carry a drop of Marchetti blood! They are bastards!"
The room went dead silent. Marcus’s hand moved toward his sidearm, but Damian raised a single finger, stopping him instantly.
"You're right about one thing, Donato," Damian said smoothly, pouring himself a glass of water from the crystal decanter. "They aren't Julian’s children."
A collective murmur rippled through the room. Donato grinned, a disgusting, victorious sneer spreading across his face. "You hear that, gentlemen? He admits it! Under Syndicate Law Section 4, the Marchetti holdings are forfeited to the Board immediately!"
"You didn't let me finish, Donato," Damian interrupted coldly.
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He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an official document bearing the official seal of the State Supreme Court, and tossed it into the center of the mahogany table.
"They aren't Julian’s children," Damian announced clearly. "They are mine."
