Chapter 7 - The Purge of the Traitors
The confrontation in the bedroom was resolved without a single shot being fired inside the house. Dominic and his four lieutenants were disarmed by Silvio’s men, their hands secured behind their backs with heavy plastic zip-ties, their faces white with the realization of their total defeat.
Arya had retreated into the corner near the vanity, her expensive silk dress pressed against the wall, her breaths coming in short, terrified gasps as she looked at the army of old-guard soldiers filling the suite.
"Vincent!" she cried, her voice high and frantic as she tried to reach toward him. "I didn't know! I swear to God, I didn't know Dominic was behind the shooting! He told me he was trying to save you! He told me the family was collapsing!"
Vincent didn't look at her. He rolled his chair forward, stopping two feet from Dominic, who was kneeling on the floor under the heavy gaze of Silvio’s shotgun.
"You were my brother, Dom," Vincent said, his voice quiet, devoid of anger, carrying only the cold, mathematical weight of a final judgment. "We grew up in the same tenement on 22nd Street. I gave you the underboss seat because I thought you remembered the hunger. But you forgot that the head of the table belongs to the man who can see the whole room."
"Vince... please," Dominic whispered, a tear tracing a path through the sweat on his cheek. "The Romanos... they offered me the whole West Side if I cleared the path. I thought... I thought you were dead anyway after the second bullet."
"The second bullet missed the heart, Dominic," Vincent said, his hand reaching out to gently collect the gold fountain pen from his lap, sliding it back into his jacket pocket. "Silvio. Take them to the Cicero warehouse. Let the Moretti family know that their partner is no longer available for business."
"With pleasure, Don Vincent," Silvio said, a grim smile breaking through his features as his men dragged the traitors down the stairs, their boots thumping heavily against the marble steps for the last time.
The room fell into a heavy, dramatic quiet, leaving only Vincent, Arya, and Tessa standing near the bed.
Arya took a timid step forward, her hands clasped together like a penitent child. "Vincent... I’m your fiancée. We have a wedding planned for the spring. We can... we can forget this ever happened. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll handle the house."
Vincent finally looked at her. His dark eyes traveled from her perfect, expensive red lips down to the silk dress she had worn to meet his underboss in the dark.
"Tessa," Vincent said clearly.
"Yes, Don Vincent?"
"Take Miss Vance’s ring from the vanity. And show her where the back gate is. She won't be needing the driver today."
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Arya’s face twisted into an ugly, furious sneer as Tessa stepped forward, her hand extended to collect the heavy diamond ring resting on the silver tray. "You... you crippled bastard! You think this maid is going to save your empire? You’re stuck in that chair for the rest of your life! You’re nothing but a ghost!"
Vincent didn't answer. He turned his chair back toward the window, his eyes fixed on the bright, clear autumn horizon over the city. He didn't need to walk to feel the world shifting beneath his wheels. He was the Don of Chicago again. And his house was clean.
