Chapter 6 - The Council of Three River FamiliesI nodded once.
I looked down at the ruined matriarch with eyes that held no more warmth than the frozen mud beneath the river docks.
“The Laurent alliance is terminated,” I declared, my baritone booming through the vaulted hall with undisputed authority. “Every warehouse, every transport permit, and every container vessel operating under your flag in this state is seized under the authority of the Vance Family Trust.”
I looked at Dante.
“Take Beatrice Laurent and Camilla Laurent down to the subterranean holding vaults beneath Pier 8. Strip their jewelry. Strip their furs. Hand them over to Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance when the federal task force arrives at midnight.”
Beatrice shrieked, clawing at the floorboards, her tears soaking into the ruined silk of her gown as two armed tactical operators hauled her backward down the center aisle.
“Julian! No! You cannot give this empire to a servant! She scrubs floors! She has no bloodline!”
Her screams echoed down the long gallery until the heavy iron doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice forever.
Silence returned to the grand ballroom.
Pure, clean, and vast.
I stood at the head of the table.
I turned my gaze away from the door and walked slowly back to where Teresa stood beside the dais.
I took her hand, lifting her fingers with infinite gentleness as we stood together before the thirty-two most powerful men in the state.
“Teresa guarded my mother’s honor today,” I announced, my voice carrying clearly to every soul in the vaulted room. “She spoke the truth when forty armed men were blind. From this day forward, her family is under my personal protection. The Vance Logistics Trust assigns fifty percent of the newly acquired Laurent harbor revenues to the Teresa Vance Foundation for Dock Families.”
I looked down into her brown eyes, my voice softening into an unyielding vow.
“Her word is my law in this territory. Anyone who fails to treat her with the honor due to the highest seat of this house will answer directly to my barrel.”
Don Carmine Falcone was the first to move.
The elderly Don lifted his carved cane, bowed his silver head with deep, ancient respect, and raised his crystal glass of Barolo into the air.
“To Donna Teresa,” Falcone declared in his gravelly, resonant voice. “The woman who broke the traitors! Honor to the brave! Honor to the house of Vance!”
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One by one, the remaining thirty-one syndicate commanders bowed their heads, their voices joining together in a synchronized, thunderous chorus that shook the crystal chandeliers overhead:
“To Donna Teresa! Long live the house of Vance!”
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