Chapter 2 - The Council of Shadows
The double oak doors of the grand dining room were closed, but they were not locked. Inside, six of the Corvino family’s top caporegimes sat around the massive walnut table, surrounded by smoke from expensive Cuban cigars and half-empty crystal tumblers of scotch.
At the head of the table sat Dominic Vane, Vincent’s underboss and long-time childhood friend. Dominic was leaning back, a gold pen spinning between his fingers as he looked over a set of shipping manifests.
"The union reps at the harbor are getting restless," Dominic was saying, his tone conversational but sharp. "Without Vince’s signature on the private accounts, we can't clear the weekly payouts. We need to initiate the transition protocol by the end of the month. The streets are starting to smell blood."
"Vince isn't going to sign over the keys willingly, Dom," one of the older captains, Marco, growled through a cloud of smoke. "The man is proud. He’d rather see the family burn than admit he can't walk the territory."
"Then we make the decision for him," a sharp, musical voice interrupted from the corner of the room.
Arya Vance stepped out of the shadows near the liquor cabinet, a fresh glass of white wine in her hand. Her silk dress rustled softly as she walked over to Dominic, her red lips curved into a cold, pragmatic smile. "Vincent is reasonable when he’s faced with reality. I will speak to him tonight. Once the medical power of attorney is transferred to me, we can handle the accounts without making him look... diminished in front of the soldiers."
"Diminished?"
The voice didn't come from inside the room.
The heavy oak doors didn't just open; they were pushed back with a violent, mechanical force as Vincent’s wheelchair rolled over the threshold.
The dining room went instantly, terrifyingly silent. Marco choked on his cigar smoke, coughing into his hand, while Dominic’s gold pen flew from his fingers, clattering loudly against the walnut table. Arya froze, her wine glass stopping halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and sudden, sharp irritation.
Standing right behind the wheelchair, her hands steady on the leather grips, was Tessa Rossi. She looked neither left nor right; her gaze remained fixed on the space just above Dominic’s head, her face an unreadable mask of professional duty.
"Vincent," Dominic stammered, standing up so quickly his chair scraped violently against the floorboards. "We... we didn't expect you downstairs. The doctor said you needed rest."
"The doctor works for me, Dominic. Just like everyone else in this room," Vincent said, his voice cutting through the smoke like a razor blade. He rolled himself directly to the foot of the table, opposite his underboss. Even sitting down, his shoulders were massive, his presence occupying the room with an suffocating weight that made the captains instinctively straighten their ties.
Vincent’s dark eyes drifted slowly over to Arya, who had recovered her composure and was now looking down at him with an expression of thinly veiled disgust.
"You were speaking about my keys, Arya," Vincent said softly, the dangerous quiet of his tone making Marco shift uncomfortably in his seat. "And a power of attorney? I didn't realize my wedding vows included a transfer of my empire before the ceremony even took place."
"Vince, be practical," Arya said, her voice dropping into that soft, patronizing register that made his blood boil. She stepped toward him, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Vincent flinched away with a sharp, warning jerk of his head. "The family needs leadership. You cannot visit the docks. You cannot sit in the back of the clubs. The men need to see a boss who can—"
"A boss who can what, Arya? Walk?" Vincent interrupted, a cold, humorless smile touching his lips. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a heavy, ancient iron key—the key to the family’s private safety deposit vault at the continental bank—and slammed it onto the table. The metal rang against the wood like a gunshot.
"The keys stay here," Vincent growled, his gaze locking onto Dominic. "The manifests for the harbor will be brought to my study by five o'clock today. If any captain here thinks my legs were the ones running this family, stand up right now and tell me."
No one moved. No one spoke. The six hardened killers who ran the Chicago underworld looked down at their hands like schoolboys caught stealing.
May you like
Vincent turned his head slightly. "Tessa. Take me back upstairs."
"Yes, Mr. Corvino," Tessa said clearly. She turned the chair around with a smooth, practiced motion, leaving the council of shadows behind them in a cloud of stunned, defensive silence.
