Chapter 7 - The Rehearsal Dinner Massacre
The grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan was bathed in golden chandelier light. Over two hundred of New York’s criminal elite, corrupt politicians, and high-society sycophants had gathered for what was supposed to be the pre-wedding celebration uniting the Hayes and Rossi empires.
At the elevated head table sat Carlo Rossi, an aging lion with silver hair and ruthless eyes, flanked by Isabella and Marco. Vincenzo Cole sat to their right, drinking heavily, his nervous eyes constantly darting toward the ballroom's double doors.
""Relax, Vincenzo,"" Carlo muttered, cutting into a rare filet mignon. ""Desmond is cornered in the mountains. Marco’s strike team is already tracking his digital footprints. By sunrise, his estate will be ashes, and the city will belong to us.""
Isabella held up her champagne flute, admiring her diamond ring. ""He was always so boring, Father. All business, no imagination. He actually thought I would be satisfied living as his trophy while that little clerk ran his life.""
Suddenly, the grand chandeliers flickered and died.
A collective murmur of confusion swept across the two hundred guests as the room was plunged into pitch darkness. The heavy velvet curtains covering the massive street-facing windows automatically descended, shutting out the ambient city lights.
""What is the meaning of this?"" Carlo snapped, pushing his chair back. ""Marco, check the fuses!""
Before Marco could move, the emergency speakers throughout the ballroom hummed to life. But it was not music that played. It was an audio recording—crystal clear, echoing off the high ceilings.
""Julian was stubborn, and look where it got him. Carlo is offering you a settlement... Hand over the girl, surrender the ledger, and leave the country...""
Vincenzo’s face drained of all color in the darkness. ""Turn it off!"" he screamed. ""Turn it off!""
A spotlight suddenly snapped on from the balcony overlooking the ballroom floor.
Standing in the beam of light was Desmond Hayes, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his coat unbuttoned to reveal his holstered sidearm. Beside him stood Norah Reed, her head held high, dressed in an elegant black gown that concealed her bandaged arm, holding a digital tablet connected to the hotel’s main media network.
""Ladies and gentlemen,"" Desmond’s voice cut through the cavernous room like a razor blade. ""I apologize for the interruption. But before you toast to my upcoming nuptials, there are a few accounts we need to settle.""
Behind Desmond, the massive presentation screens that had been installed to show pictures of the happy couple flickered on. Instead of wedding photos, high-resolution scans of the red ledger, bank transfers signed by Vincenzo, and the autopsy photographs of Julian Hayes with Rossi family ballistics reports lit up the room in stark, undeniable clarity.
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The room erupted into chaos. Capos from rival families stood up, shouting accusations. Politicians scrambled toward the exits, only to find the heavy double doors guarded by heavily armed men bearing the colors of the New Jersey Costello syndicate.
""Kill him!"" Carlo roared, drawing his weapon and pointing toward the balcony. ""Kill them both!""
