Chapter 10 - Bloodlines and Stolen ChartersSilence returned to the grand dining hall, cold, clean, and vast.
The forty syndicate commanders remained standing, their weapons lowered, their eyes fixed on the man who had just dismantled a forty-year dynasty in twenty minutes without firing a single shot.
Luca stood at the head of the table.
He turned his gaze away from the broken glass and looked directly at me as I sat in the high-backed armchair.
He walked over to my chair, extending his large, warm hand.
“Olivia,” he said softly, his deep baritone carrying clearly to every soul in the room. “Stand with me.”
I placed my hand into his palm. He lifted me gently to my feet, his arm wrapping naturally around my waist to support my balance as we stood together before the forty most powerful men in Illinois.
Luca reached into his breast pocket and produced an antique leather portfolio bearing the golden seal of the State of Illinois.
He laid it flat on the mahogany table.
“The Calumet container berths are officially rechristened the Olivia Hayes Logistics Center,” Luca announced, his voice ringing with undisputed authority. “And fifty percent of the operating revenues are permanently assigned to the Chloe Hayes Respiratory Foundation, providing free pulmonary care, medication subsidies, and housing defense for working-class families across Chicago.”
He looked down at me, his gray eyes shining with an emotion so deep it made my breath catch in my throat.
“Olivia Hayes took a solid oak door to the bone to ensure my family was not robbed by traitors,” Luca declared to the assembly. “She carried the truth when forty armed men were blind. From this day forward, her word is law in this territory. Anyone who fails to treat her with the honor due to the Donna of this house will answer directly to me.”
Don Carmine Falcone was the first to move.
The elderly capo lifted his walking stick, bowed his silver head with deep, ancient respect, and raised his crystal glass into the air.
“To Donna Olivia,” Falcone declared in his gravelly, resonant voice. “The woman who broke the traitors. Honor to the brave! Honor to the house of Moretti!”
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One by one, the remaining thirty-nine syndicate commanders bowed their heads, their voices joining together in a synchronized, thunderous chorus that shook the crystal chandeliers overhead:
“To Donna Olivia! Long live the Moretti Outfit!”
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