Chapter 7 - The Council of the Dead
The Syndicate Council did not meet in a gilded boardroom or a luxury hotel. They met in the basement of an abandoned brewery on the riverbank—a cold, cavernous stone space where the walls still smelled of sour yeast and wet iron.
Twelve chairs were arranged in a wide circle around a burning steel drum that provided the room's only light and heat.
Sitting in those chairs were the heads of the twelve families that controlled the Eastern Seaboard—old men in heavy fur-collared coats, young sociopaths with polished teeth, and veteran killers who had survived three generations of turf wars.
At seven o'clock, Lorenzo walked down the stone steps into the circle.
He was accompanied only by Marco. He wore no body armor, no tactical gear—just a bespoke charcoal suit, his gold signet ring restored to his finger, and his hands rested casually in his trousers pockets.
Sitting across the circle was Don Bernardo Rossi, flanked by three senior dons who had long been his financial partners. Falco was not present; his neck was still too swollen to allow him to speak clearly.
"Lorenzo," spoke Don Carmine—the eighty-year-old chairman of the council, whose word was law among the families. "We are here to address a formal petition of grievance filed by the Rossi family."
Lorenzo stopped near the burning drum, the orange firelight reflecting off his dark eyes. "State the grievance."
Carmine pulled a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and looked down at a sheet of paper. "Don Bernardo claims you broke a sacred blood covenant by rejecting the marriage alliance with his house. He further claims you assaulted his consigliere, harbor a rogue civilian who has knowledge of family operations, and are currently unfit to lead the Duca syndicate due to emotional instability."
A few low murmurs echoed through the dark stone room.
Lorenzo did not look at Carmine. He turned his head slowly, looking at each of the twelve dons in turn.
"Is there anyone here," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying pitch that cut through the drafty room like a blade, "who believes I am unfit to lead?"
Silence fell over the brewery.
The young sociopaths looked at the floor. The old men pulled their fur collars tighter around their necks. Nobody spoke. Nobody met his eyes.
"Lorenzo!" Bernardo barked, standing up from his folding chair, his face contorted in rage. "You insult the council with your arrogance! You threw away thirty million dollars in harbor revenue because of a maid and a bastard child! You are risking a full-scale war with Chicago because you refuse to secure our northern border through marriage!"
Lorenzo took two steps toward Bernardo.
"I didn't throw away thirty million dollars, Bernardo," Lorenzo said smoothly. "I saved this syndicate from your consigliere's stupidity."
He reached into his jacket. Every don in the room instantly stiffened, their guards reaching for their weapons.
Lorenzo pulled out a small black USB drive and tossed it into Don Carmine’s lap.
"What is this?" Carmine asked, holding the small plastic drive up to the firelight.
"That," Lorenzo explained, "is a complete audio and digital recording of Falco’s bank transactions over the last six months. He didn't just try to frame a maid in my house, Bernardo. He’s been selling the shipping manifests of the Rossi harbor to the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
Bernardo’s face went completely white. "That's... that's a lie! A forgery!"
"Check the accounts, Carmine," Lorenzo said, looking at the chairman. "Account number 4402 in the Cayman Islands. Received three wire transfers of two hundred thousand dollars each, originating from a dummy corporation owned by the Department of Justice. Falco was setting up the harbor treaty so the feds could bust the entire Northern Coalition in one sweep."
Carmine inserted the USB drive into a rugged laptop sitting on a crate beside his chair. He typed for thirty seconds, his old eyes scanning the scrolling green numbers on the screen.
Slowly, Carmine closed the laptop. He looked up at Bernardo, his eyes filled with a cold, ancient fury that made Bernardo take an involuntary step backward.
"It’s real," Carmine said, his voice flat as a tombstone. "The transfers are verified."
"Carmine! Listen to me!" Bernardo stammered, his hands shaking hysterically. "I didn't know! I swear on my life, I didn't know Falco was working with the feds!"
"It doesn't matter if you knew," Lorenzo said, stepping directly in front of Bernardo. "Your house is dirty, Bernardo. Your consigliere sold us out. And you brought him into my home under the guise of a marriage treaty."
Don Carmine stood up from his chair, pulling his heavy coat around his shoulders.
"The council has reached a verdict," Carmine announced, his voice echoing through the stone arches. "The Rossi family's petition is dismissed. The marriage covenant is voided. Furthermore, the Rossi family territory in the West Ward is revoked and transferred immediately to the Duca syndicate."
Bernardo gasped, clutching his chest as if he had been struck with a hammer. "Carmine! You can't strip my family! We've been here for fifty years!"
"You're lucky we don't strip your skin, Bernardo," Carmine said coldly, turning his back on the old man. "Lorenzo... the traitor Falco is yours. Do whatever is necessary to protect the coalition."
May you like
"He’s already taken care of," Marco murmured from behind Lorenzo, holding up his phone where a text message from Pino’s handler had just arrived. "Pino found him near the docks an hour ago."
Lorenzo didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and walked toward the stone stairs, his heavy boots clicking against the floor, leaving the broken, ruined Don of the Rossi family standing alone beside the dying embers of the fire drum.
