Chapter 8 - The Ambush at Montauk PointThe heavy oak side doors of the chapel burst open.
Six of Dante’s elite maritime tactical operators in black body armor swept into the sanctuary, dragging four zip-tied mercenaries across the stone floor.
The mercenaries wore dark neoprene diving suits, their faces bruised and bloody from their capture at the Oyster Bay marina.
Behind them walked Andrew Keller, handcuffed to a federal marshal, his eyes swollen shut from weeping.
The sixty syndicate commanders in the pews stood up as one, drawing their concealed weapons, training thirty suppressed pistols directly onto Salvatore Bellini and his personal security detail.
In the underworld of the Eastern Seaboard, business disputes were settled with negotiations. Turf wars were settled with lead.
That was business.
That was the code.
But bringing outside hitmen to a wedding chapel, planning to spray automatic fire into sixty syndicate families, and desecrating a dead mother’s sacred legacy to pay off gambling debts—that was an unforgivable treason that carried an immediate, permanent death sentence under the council charter.
Don Carmine Falcone, the oldest and most respected capo from Brooklyn, slowly pushed open the gate of his pew.
He walked down the center aisle, leaning heavily on his silver-topped cane, his weathered face carved from dark granite.
He stopped beside Salvatore Bellini.
“Salvatore,” Falcone rasped, his voice vibrating with ancient, terrifying wrath. “You brought foreign mercenaries to an Outfit wedding? You planned to spill our blood on this holy altar?”
Salvatore fell to his knees on the marble floor, his tailored pinstripe suit wrinkling as he clasped his hands in desperate, groveling supplication.
“Carmine! Listen to me! It wasn't supposed to be a bloodbath! They were only supposed to fire into the water! Just to create a distraction so the insurance claim would clear!”
“You don't fire into a room where my family sits, Salvatore,” Falcone replied with absolute, chilling finality.
He turned toward Dante.
“Don Dante. The Commission recognizes the treason. The house of Bellini is stripped of all charters, all territories, and all protection.”
Dante nodded once.
He looked at Daniel.
“Take Salvatore, Vanessa, and Keller to the sub-basement holding vaults. Hand them over to Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance when his federal convoy arrives at noon. Every port lease, every warehouse, and every vessel operating under the Bellini name is seized under the authority of the Caruso Outfit.”
Vanessa shrieked, clawing at the marble floor, her expensive lace gown tearing into shreds as two armed guards hauled her backward down the center aisle.
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“Dante! No! You can't do this! I was supposed to be your wife! I was supposed to be the Donna of this city!”
Her screams echoed through the vaulted limestone ceiling until the heavy iron doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice forever.
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