Chapter 6 - The Council of Six
The standoff inside the sugar refinery remained frozen for three agonizing minutes—the time it took for the heavy iron delivery doors at the eastern wall to be opened from the outside.
Through the opening walked the five remaining capos of the New York factions, led by Tommy Bruno. They didn't bring enforcement crews; they walked in alone, their hands visible, their faces pale under the harsh glare of the industrial bulbs. They had been summoned by Marcus through a secure, emergency protocol that only the primary boss of the family could authorize—the Omertà Audit.
"Vincent!" Tommy Bruno shouted up toward the catwalk, his voice cracking with an old man’s anger. "What the hell is this? Why are your men holding weapons against the sitting boss of this family? We signed the charter in ninety-eight to stop this kind of street war!"
Vincent didn't lower his gaze from Logan. "The boy is a traitor, Tommy! He cleared six million dollars from the family accounts in Zurich last night! He’s trying to build a separate network upstate with the remnants of the Hayes family! He’s compromised our perimeter!"
"The six million dollars didn't go to an upstate network, Uncle," Logan said, his voice quiet, but carrying an absolute, cold resonance that filled every corner of the refinery. He held up his father’s diary, the pages open to the light. "The six million was moved to a secure escrow account held by the federal district attorney in Manhattan. It was the entry fee to secure a blanket immunity protective order for my nieces."
He turned slowly, looking up at the captains standing near the door. "My sister Elena didn't die eight years ago. Vincent had Gianni drive her car off the cliff because she found out he murdered my father. She survived, she hid in Rosewood for eight years, and eleven months ago, Vincent found her again and had her thrown down the stairs of her own house."
A collective murmur passed through the captains. The Marchetti family had survived for a century on a strict, unbreakable code: You do not spill the blood of the name. You could kill a rival, you could execute a captain who skimmed the books, but you never touched a daughter of the bloodline.
"He’s lying!" Vincent roared, his face turning a deep, dangerous crimson. "Gianni! Clear the floor! Kill them all!"
Gianni tightened his finger on the trigger of his submachine gun, but before he could squeeze, three of the captains’ personal snipers—positioned by Marcus’s outer perimeter team on the roof hours ago—fired simultaneously through the high glass skylights.
The three rounds caught Gianni in the chest and shoulder, throwing his body back against the iron railing of the catwalk before he fell sixty feet down to the concrete floor below with a sickening, heavy thud.
The remaining twenty enforcers on the catwalks froze, their weapons wavering as they saw their leader lying dead in the dust of the refinery floor. They were soldiers; they took orders from the man who paid the checks, but they weren't going to die for a boss who had just been exposed as a kin-slayer.
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"Drop your weapons," Logan commanded, his voice dropping into that final, absolute whisper that marked the end of an era. "The Marchetti family doesn't take orders from a ghost."
One by one, the submachine guns clattered against the iron catwalks, falling to the concrete below like a rain of heavy metallic coins.
