Chapter 5 - A Sister in the Archivist’s ApronBefore descending to the salon, Julian returned to the master suite.
Nora was resting peacefully beneath the duvet, her breathing deep and rhythmic, the intravenous therapy having restored a healthy, radiant color to her cheeks.
Mrs. Gable, the senior housekeeper who had served Donna Francesca thirty years ago, sat beside the bed, weeping softly as she smoothed an exquisite ivory silk maternity gown across her knees.
“She is the living breath of her mother, Julian,” Mrs. Gable whispered, looking up through tear-filled eyes. “I held her when she was three days old. The moment she entered this house, the winter broke.”
“She will never touch an archive cart again, Mrs. Gable,” Julian murmured softly.
He looked down at Nora.
He reached into his pocket, took out Donna Francesca’s gold medallion, and placed it on the nightstand beside her glass of water.
“When she wakes, dress her in the ivory silk,” Julian instructed. “Fasten the medallion around her neck. She will enter the grand salon as the true Donna of this fleet.”
“At once, Don Julian,” the old woman nodded with fierce, unyielding pride.
Julian turned on his heel, stepping out into the gallery where Dante and six tactical operators stood in silent formation.
“Open the grand salon doors,” Julian commanded.
“Yes, boss.”
The heavy double oak doors of the grand banquet hall swung open with a concussive boom that rattled the chandeliers overhead.
Inside, thirty district capos, port commissioners, and municipal judges sat along a forty-foot mahogany table laden with vintage scotch, roasted meats, and crystal candelabras.
At the head of the eastern table sat Don Arthur Montgomery.
Sixty-six years old, silver hair slicked back with patrician arrogance, wearing an eight-thousand-dollar tailored dinner suit, his heavy gold signet ring clicking against his crystal tumbler.
“Julian!” Arthur boomed, raising his glass with an expansive grin as Julian entered. “We were beginning to think the blizzard had frozen your wine cellar! Where is Victoria? We are ready to execute the joint harbor merger!”
Julian walked down the center aisle, his heavy dress shoes clicking rhythmically against the hardwood.
He didn't return the smile. He didn't take his seat.
He stopped two feet in front of Arthur Montgomery.
Dante stepped forward, slamming the brass dispatch box onto the white damask cloth directly between Arthur’s plate and his glass.
The plates jumped. Scotch sloshed across the linen.
Arthur’s smile tightened, a flicker of cold calculation passing across his brow.
“What is this melodrama, Julian? An advance wedding gift?”
Julian reached into his vest, pulled out the scorched 1996 dry dock work order, and laid it flat before the older man.
“Brittle bronze fuel sleeves, Arthur,” Julian whispered, his voice quiet enough that every capo along the table stopped talking instantly.
The color began to drain from Arthur Montgomery’s face.
“Do you remember the date?” Julian asked.
May you like
Arthur didn't move. He didn't answer. But his hand holding the crystal glass began to tremble by an imperceptible fraction.
“Or should I ask Victoria?” Julian continued. “She is currently in the holding vaults beneath Pier 8, waiting to explain why my mother’s gold medallion was found pinned inside the waistband of my living sister.”
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