Chapter 7 - The Final Stand In The Old Warehouse
Carmine stumbled backward out of his high-backed leather chair, knocking his crystal tumbler of scotch onto the floor. It shattered into a hundred glittering shards. ""You... you're dead! Marco reported your car sank into thirty feet of freezing water!""
""Marco failed,"" I spoke up, my voice ringing clear and steady across the massive chamber, commanding the attention of every hardened killer in the room. ""Just like you failed to kill my father twenty years ago when you had his car rigged, Carmine. Just like you failed to extinguish the bloodline of Vincente.""
Murmurs erupted like wildfire around the table. Capos from Detroit, Cleveland, and Chicago rose to their feet, their eyes darting between Carmine and the glowing emerald seal gleaming on my finger.
""She’s an imposter!"" Carmine roared, his face turning an apoplectic shade of purple. He slammed his hand onto the table, pointing a shaking finger at Donald Fontaine. ""Fontaine, tell them! Tell them your daughter is the only rightful bride for this family!""
Donald Fontaine swallowed hard, looking at Luca’s eyes—eyes that promised unspeakable agony to anyone who stood in his path—and then looked down at his own trembling hands. ""Aria called me an hour ago from a state police barracks, Carmine,"" Fontaine whispered, his voice trembling. ""She told me Marco opened fire in a public diner. She told me you tried to murder an unborn child. We’re out. The Fontaine syndicate will not stand with a child killer.""
""Traitors! All of you!"" Carmine shrieked. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gold-plated revolver, aiming it directly at my chest. ""If I have to wipe out the whole bloodline myself, I will!""
Before Carmine could cock the hammer, the mahogany table erupted.
Enzo had anticipated the move, kicking the heavy oak chair beneath Carmine’s feet, throwing the old man’s aim off. The bullet ricocheted wildly off the crystal chandelier above, raining sharp glass down onto the table.
Luca moved like a shadow. In less than two seconds, he closed the distance between them. His hand clamped around his father’s wrist with bone-snapping force. Carmine cried out in agony as the gold revolver clattered uselessly onto the table.
Luca didn't shoot him. He twisted his father’s arm behind his back, slamming the old man down onto the mahogany conference table, pressing his face flat against the cold wood.
""You broke the first rule of this family,"" Luca growled into Carmine’s ear, the sound terrifying in its calm, quiet precision. ""You targeted the woman who carries the future. You dishonored my mother's memory, you dishonored Vincente, and you disgraced every man who ever swore an oath to the Caruso crest.""
""I am your father!"" Carmine wheezed, his face contorting against the mahogany. ""You can't kill me! The commission will tear you to pieces!""
""The commission already reviewed the evidence two hours ago,"" Luca said calmly. He pulled a thick leather-bound ledger from his inner coat and tossed it into the center of the table. ""They know about the federal kickbacks. They know about the wire transfers to your offshore accounts in Panama. You don't have a family anymore, Carmine. You don't even have a title.""
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Three elderly capos—men who had sworn oaths to my father forty years ago—stepped forward. They didn't look at Carmine. They looked at me, then dropped to one knee before the mahogany table.
""Donna Elena,"" the oldest capo, Salvatore, said solemnly. ""The commission recognizes your father’s house. Command us.""
