Chapter 8 - The Tribunal of Shadows
The Commission met in the subterranean vault beneath St. Michael's Monastery in downtown Chicago—a neutral, ancient stone chamber where the syndicate leaders had settled blood debts for over a century.
Six massive oak chairs sat in a semi-circle around a central marble floor.
The heads of the Five Families—men with gray hair, stone faces, and billions in blood money—sat in their respective seats, flanked by their legal counsels and lieutenants.
Bernardo Rossi sat in the second chair, looking confident, flanked by his surviving capos.
At 9:00 PM, the heavy iron doors of the vault ground open.
DeJuan Marshall entered the room.
He didn't use an electric wheelchair. Instead, he was using a streamlined, hand-crafted polished ebony manual chair, pushing the wheels himself with powerful, rhythmic strokes of his arms. He wore a crisp, midnight-blue tuxedo, looking like a lord entering his domain.
Beside him walked Nadine, stunning in a high-necked, velvet black dress, holding an ivory leather folder containing the syndicate's financial records.
A low murmur rippled through the old bosses.
"Don Marshall," the elderly Chairman, Don Salvatore, spoke up, his voice echoing off the ancient stone walls. "Don Rossi has called an emergency tribunal under Code 14. He claims your physical condition and recent territorial destabilization make you unfit to retain control of the Eastern Docks."
Bernardo Rossi stood up, pressing his hands against the table. "Look at him!" Bernardo shouted, pointing a finger toward DeJuan. "He is confined to a chair! He relies on a catering maid to run his business! Two days ago, a street ambush nearly took his life because he cannot even step out of a vehicle without help! He is a liability to us all!"
DeJuan brought his chair to a smooth stop in the center of the marble floor. He didn't interrupt. He simply listened with a cold, terrifying amusement.
When Bernardo finished his tirade, DeJuan looked at Nadine.
She opened the ivory folder smoothly, stepping forward into the center of the light.
"Distinguished members of the Commission," Nadine spoke, her voice clear, melodious, and completely devoid of nervousness. "Don Rossi speaks of stability. Let us examine his own."
She pulled out a series of financial ledgers and handed them to Don Salvatore’s guards.
"Over the last six months," Nadine explained smoothly, "the Rossi family has defaulted on three international shipping payments to the Sicilian cartels. To cover his debts, Don Rossi secretly pledged twenty percent of his family's Commission voting stock to a private hedge fund in London—a direct violation of Code 3."
Bernardo’s face turned from red to an ashen gray. "Where... where did you get those documents?!"
"I got them from your daughter, Camilla," Nadine said calmly, laying a crushing blow with a smile. "When she fled to Maine, she didn't just run from a marriage, Don Rossi. She ran from you. She was terrified that your illegal debts would ruin her. She traded your offshore account ledgers to Don Marshall in exchange for safe passage and a permanent trust in Europe."
The vault erupted into furious shouts from the other bosses.
Don Salvatore slammed his wooden gavel against the marble desk. "Silence!"
Salvatore reviewed the documents, his eyes narrowing as he read the proof of Bernardo's betrayal. He looked up, his expression turned to disgust as he glared at the Rossi patriarch.
"Bernardo Rossi," Salvatore declared coldly. "You have compromised the Commission. You used a false marriage to hide your insolvency, and you brought violence to the streets without authorization."
"This is a setup!" Bernardo screamed, reaching into his coat—a fatal mistake inside the neutral vault.
BANG!
A single shot echoed through the stone room.
It didn't come from the Commission guards. It came from DeJuan.
Before anyone could react, DeJuan had drawn a compact, snub-nosed revolver from a hidden holster built into his wheelchair's armrest, firing a single, precise round through Bernardo Rossi's right shoulder, dropping him instantly to the stone floor.
DeJuan slowly re-holstered the weapon, his hand entirely steady, his expression chillingly calm.
"I may not have the use of my legs, Bernardo," DeJuan said, his voice cutting through the ringing silence of the room like a executioner's axe. "But my sight is perfect. And my hands do not shake."
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Don Salvatore looked down at the bleeding Rossi boss, then at DeJuan sitting tall and powerful in his ebony chair.
"The Eastern Docks remain under the control of the Marshall family," Salvatore announced cleanly. "And the Rossi territory is hereby stripped, to be managed jointly by Don Marshall and the Commission. The vote is settled."
