Chapter 6 - The Council of Atlantic Port CaptainsSilvio opened his hand.
Henderson crashed onto the stone hearth like a sack of wet flour, coughing up blood, gasping for air as he curled into a pathetic, shivering ball against the ashes.
Silvio did not look at him again.
He reached out his right arm, resting his heavy hand on Elena’s shoulder, using her steady, fearless frame for support as he took a single, unhurried step forward.
He looked down at Marco, who remained kneeling on the floorboards, his head bowed in complete submission.
“The spindle,” Silvio rasped, his voice growing deeper and stronger with every breath. “The key... in Elena’s hand.”
Marco lifted his tear-stained face. “Father... I swear on my mother’s soul... Henderson showed me forged medical logs every month... I believed you were lost to us—”
Silvio turned his head toward Frank.
“Take Henderson down to the meat lockers beneath the drydock,” Silvio commanded, his tone flat as an open grave. “Hang him from the ceiling hooks by his thumbs. When the federal prosecutors arrive, give them his personal safe.”
Two armed commandos seized Henderson by the arms, dragging him backward out into the blizzard, his frantic, echoing screams swallowed by the howling wind until the heavy doors clicked shut.
Silvio turned back to Elena.
The terrifying, murderous rage that had flattened Henderson melted away, replaced by an ocean of profound, ancient reverence.
He took the brass spindle from her palm.
He did not put it away.
With slow, reverent hands, Silvio Santoro slipped the heavy brass chain over Elena’s head, letting the anchor rest directly over her pregnant belly.
Then he looked at his son.
“Marco.”
“Command, Father,” Marco answered instantly.
“This girl spent her grocery money to buy me socks while your men drank hundred-dollar scotch in the library,” Silvio said, each word falling like lead. “She washed my face with sweet almond oil when your servants left me in cold filth. She carried hot stew through the freezing sleet to keep me breathing.”
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Silvio’s eyes locked onto Marco’s with absolute, undisputed sovereignty.
“She is not a servant in this house, Marco. She is the mother of the Santoro bloodline. You will put your mother’s sapphire on her finger before midnight, or you will leave this coast without an empire, a dollar, or a name.”
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