Chapter 6 - The Council of Wolves
The double gold doors of the Grand Sovereign’s Grand Ballroom stood wide open under the glow of crystal chandeliers, but the men sitting inside were beasts in tailored suits. The heads of the five families were seated around a massive, polished mahogany oval table, their bodyguards flanking the perimeter like armed statues. Marco stood at the head of the table, wearing a crisp charcoal suit, his arm in a sling from our earlier encounter, holding a glass of vintage champagne. Beside him stood my father, Aldo Ferrante, smiling his cold, calculated smile that had terrified me throughout my childhood. ""The tragedy in the bridal suite was unavoidable,"" Marco was saying, his voice projecting across the grand room with theatrical grief. ""Nico proved unstable. He drew on his bride, and our security detail had no choice. But with Don Aldo's blessing, the alliance holds. We consolidate the northern corridors tonight."" Aldo nodded slowly, raising his glass. ""To the new Don. To the peace we built on Ferrante blood."" ""The only thing built on Ferrante blood is treason,"" a voice cut through the hall like a razor across silk. The heavy doors didn't swing; they blasted inward off their hinges as two flashbangs exploded in the foyer, blinding the security perimeter in a blinding sheet of white light and deafening thunder. Before the echo could fade, Nico strode into the room. He didn't duck. He didn't hide. He walked with the terrifying majesty of an emperor reclaiming his throne, a customized submachine gun leveled at his hip. Behind him, dressed in all black, my hair slicked back and a Kimber .45 locked in my grip, I covered the eastern perimeter, immediately putting two non-lethal rounds into the kneecaps of the Corvin guards who reached for their holsters. The room erupted into absolute panic. Elderly dons fell out of their chairs, scrambling for cover. ""Nico!"" Marco screamed, dropping his glass. It shattered against the parquet floor, red wine pooling like the blood he had promised to spill. ""Shoot them! What are you waiting for? Kill them both!"" Not a single guard moved. Because behind Marco, the video monitors lining the council walls flickered to life. The audio feed from the bridal suite's hidden security cameras—hacked by my burner phone codes ten minutes prior—began blaring across the hall. Marco's voice echoed through the speakers: Terminate the bride before dawn. The Ferrante girl dies so we can blame Nico and take the north. Aldo's face drained of every drop of color. He stared at the screen, then at me.
