Chapter 6 - The Council's Judgment
The entire ballroom erupted into chaos.
Don Carmine Marcone slammed his heavy fist onto the table, standing up with a roar. "Silence! All of you, sit down!"
The mob bosses fell quiet, though their hands remained glued to their concealed holsters.
Carmine glared at me, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every inch of my face, my posture, and the teardrop diamond resting on my collarbone.
"A twin sister?" Carmine sneered, turning his gaze to Mateo. "Convenient story, Valenti. You bring a girl from a cheap diner, put Clara’s diamonds on her, and expect the Council to grant her the Moretti family’s seat and territory?"
"She is no fake, Carmine," Mateo replied coldly, reaching into his pocket and tossing a thick folder onto the center of the table. "These are certified DNA results from three independent laboratories in London, New York, and Rome. They confirm a 99.9% identical genetic match between Mara Vance and Clara Moretti. Furthermore, we have the original Sicilian adoption papers signed by Clara’s aunt, Elena."
Victor Marcone took a step forward, his jaw trembling with fury. "It doesn't matter! Even if she is Clara's sister, she knows nothing of our laws! She is a civilian! A nobody!"
"She is the mother of my son's blood," Mateo countered, stepping up to the table with an unshakeable presence. "And under the old Sicilian Treaty of 1920, if a matriarch passes, her surviving blood kin has the right to claim her vote on this Council—or bestow that vote upon her chosen protector."
I stepped forward, taking my place beside Mateo. I remembered what he had told me in the car: Keep your head high.
"I bestow my family's vote and all Moretti territory upon Mateo Valenti," I announced, my voice ringing out clear, firm, and resonant across the ballroom. "And as the last surviving heir of the Moretti bloodline, I demand an official Council inquiry into the murder of my sister, Clara."
Victor’s eyes flashed with panic. He looked at his father, then at the other four bosses, who were beginning to murmur in agreement.
"This is ridiculous!" Victor yelled, drawing his gun from his coat. "She’s an impostor! Kill them both!"
"Victor, NO!" Don Carmine shouted.
But it was too late.
Before Victor could raise his barrel toward my chest, Mateo moved with lightning speed. He grabbed Victor’s wrist, twisting it violently until the gun clattered to the floor, and smashed his elbow directly into Victor’s jaw.
Victor crashed onto the poker table, groaning in pain, as Mateo pulled his own firearm and pressed the warm steel barrel directly against Victor’s forehead.
Fifty guards instantly drew their weapons, pointing them at Mateo and me. Luca and twenty Valenti enforcers stepped forward, drawing their submachine guns in response. A deadly stand-off gripped the room.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't blow your brains across this table right now, Victor," Mateo whispered, his voice dangerously calm.
"Because... because you don't have the guts!" Victor spat, blood dripping from his mouth. "You think you're a king, Mateo? You couldn't even protect your wife! And you won't protect this fake bitch either!"
"Mateo, wait!" I called out, stepping closer to them. "Look at his left hand!"
Mateo glanced down at Victor’s left hand, which was gripping the edge of the table.
On his wrist, half-hidden beneath his tailored sleeve, was a fresh, red burn mark in the exact shape of a three-pronged ignition key—the unique custom ignition key of Clara’s sports car.
The entire room fell dead silent.
"That burn," I said, my voice shaking with rage as I pointed at Victor’s wrist. "That is a thermal contact mark from an incendiary detonation device. You planted the bomb under Clara’s car yourself, didn't you, Victor?!"
Don Carmine Marcone stared at his son in utter horror. "Victor... tell me you didn't..."
Victor looked around the room. He saw the horror on his father's face, the disgust on the other bosses' faces, and the cold death promise shining in Mateo’s dark eyes.
"She was going to give him the docks!" Victor suddenly shrieked, losing his sanity completely. "The Moretti family was weak! They didn't deserve that land! I did it! I blew her to pieces, and I should have killed her bastard baby too!"
BANG.
A single gunshot shattered the silence.
It wasn't Mateo who pulled the trigger.
It was Don Carmine Marcone.
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The old man lowered his smoking gun, tears running down his weathered cheeks as his son’s lifeless body slid off the table onto the carpet.
"A man who murders a pregnant woman and attempts to kill a child is no son of mine," Don Carmine wept softly, bowing his head. He looked up at Mateo and me with broken, hollow eyes. "The Marcone family surrenders all claims to the docks. The war is over."
