Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
The penthouse banquet hall at the Grand Harbor Hotel overlooked the glittering Manhattan skyline, rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Inside, Don Salvatore Moretti and Don Carlo Lucciano were celebrating. Ice clinked against crystal tumblers of forty-year-old Scotch, and the rich aroma of Cuban cigars hung thick in the warm air. Surrounding them were eight heavily armed capos, laughing and dividing the city’s shipping ports on a map spread across a mahogany table.
"To Dante Rossi!" Moretti toasted, raising his glass with a hearty belly laugh. "The kid had the guts Dominic Vance lacked. By tomorrow morning, the Vance syndicate will be dissolved, absorbed into our coalition. The waterfront is ours!"
"And what about Dominic's body?" Lucciano asked, blowing a thick ring of blue smoke. "Is it confirmed?"
"Dante texted thirty minutes ago," Moretti smirked, tapping his gold watch. "He said he’s bringing Dominic’s personal signet ring to this very room to seal the alliance. A magnificent boy, that Dante."
The heavy double doors of the banquet hall swung open.
The laughter died instantly.
I walked into the room alone. I wore a tailored black three-piece suit, my left arm held securely in a black silk sling, my right hand resting casually inside my coat pocket. Behind me, marching with synchronized, terrifying quiet, were twenty Iron Vanguard soldiers, their tactical shotguns and rifles raised and locked onto the rival bodyguards before anyone could even draw a weapon.
Moretti’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering across the polished parquet floor. The Scotch pooled like dark amber around his Italian leather loafers.
"Dominic...?" Lucciano whispered, his face draining of every drop of color. "You're... you were..."
"Dead?" I asked smoothly, walking toward the head of the table. Every rival bodyguard froze, their hands hovering helplessly above their holsters as the red laser sights from my men painted their chests. "I apologize for disappointing you, Salvatore. Carlo. It seems rumors of my demise were grossly exaggerated."
"This... this is a misunderstanding, Dom," Moretti stammered, raising his hands, his loud bravado crumbling into pitiful panic. "We were just... we were meeting Dante to negotiate your rescue! We thought you were held hostage!"
"Save your breath, Sal," I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down slowly.
I gestured toward the doors.
Two Vanguard soldiers dragged Dante Rossi and Vanessa into the room, tossing them onto their knees before the table. Dante was covered in bandages, his eyes swollen shut, his spirit completely broken. Vanessa was bound in restraints, her designer dress shredded and stained with harbor grime, her ruined knee wrapped in thick gauze. She trembled uncontrollably, staring at the floor, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
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"Recognize these two?" I asked calmly, pulling the black ledger from my pocket and tossing it onto the map of Manhattan. "Dante kept very thorough notes, Sal. Every bribe. Every offshore wire transfer from your bank in the Caymans. Every promise you made to carve up my father's empire."
Lucciano looked at the ledger, then at Dante, and closed his eyes in pure despair. "You have us dead to rights, Vance."
