Chapter 7 - The Trial in the Grand Salon
Camilla fell to her knees on the marble floor, clawing desperately at the hem of her father’s trousers. “Father! Do something! Tell them it’s a forgery! Tell them!”
Julian didn't look at her. The haughty, invincible patriarch of the Vance dynasty looked like a hollow, broken shell. He looked around the horseshoe table and saw forty hardened syndicate commanders staring back at him with pure, murderous hatred. In our world, open war was acceptable, business disputes were expected, but orchestrating the cowardly assassination of an ally’s wife and framing an innocent faction was an unforgivable death sentence.
“Alessandro,” Julian wheezed, his throat dry, his hands raised in surrender. “Listen to me... the council bylaws guarantee a formal tribunal hearing... thirty days to prepare a legal defense—”
“The bylaws of 1994, Julian?” Alessandro asked, stopping two paces away from the trembling patriarch. “The very bylaws you drafted after my mother’s death to shield your family from internal audits?”
Alessandro looked at Capo Moretti, the senior arbiter of the Northern Syndicate. “Capo Moretti. As senior elder of this assembly, what is the council’s verdict for the murder of a sovereign matriarch?”
Moretti spat onto the marble floor at Julian’s feet. “Execution. The total liquidation of the Vance syndicate. Their territory divided among the surviving families, and their bloodline stripped of all council honors forever.”
“No!” Camilla screamed, scrambling across the floor toward the dais, her manicured fingers clawing at the steps. “Alessandro, please! I didn't know about the bombing! My father kept it from me! I only wanted to marry you! I loved you, Alessandro!”
Alessandro looked down at her with a disgust so cold it froze the tears on her cheeks.
“You didn't know, Camilla?” Alessandro whispered. “Then why did you corner Clara in the catacombs yesterday afternoon? Why did you push her against a limestone wall and threaten to have her brother executed in a military prison if she didn't help you find Silvio’s body?”
Camilla froze. Her jaw snapped shut, her eyes darting frantically toward me.
“You knew everything,” I said, stepping down the riser until I stood directly above her. “You knew Silvio was locked in that crypt. You knew what was on that microchip. And you were willing to bury an innocent old man alive and frame my brother for treason just to wear Elena’s crown.”
Camilla’s mask of victimhood shattered completely. Her face contorted into an ugly, feral snarl.
“You filthy scullery maid!” she hissed, lunging upward to grab my ankle. “You think you’re better than me?! You were scrubbing grease from my boots twenty-four hours ago! You belong in the dirt!”
Before her fingers could touch my shoes, Marco stepped forward and drove the butt of his submachine gun into the floor between her hands, while two Blackwood-trained Barsotti guards grabbed her arms, pinning her roughly to the marble.
“Take them to the west holding cells,” Alessandro commanded, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Julian. Camilla. And every Vance capo who entered this estate with concealed weapons.”
Julian was disarmed and forced into zip-ties, his head bowed in utter defeat. As he was led past Silvio’s wheelchair, the elderly bodyguard looked up at his former tormentor and uttered a single, devastating sentence:
“Elena sends her regards, Julian.”
The grand ballroom cleared within thirty minutes as the council capos were escorted to the communications room to oversee the systematic dismantling of the Vance syndicate’s assets. Wire transfers totaling billions of euros were frozen across Frankfurt, London, and New York, while Barsotti strike teams mobilized across northern Italy to seize Vance shipping ports and distribution warehouses.
The room was left empty except for Alessandro, Marco, Silvio, and me.
Alessandro walked back up the marble steps toward the thrones. He looked at the empty seat that had once belonged to his mother, then turned his gaze toward me.
“Are you all right, Clara?” he asked softly, extending his hand to me.
“I’m still trying to believe it’s real,” I whispered, resting my hand in his. “Twenty-four hours ago, I was terrified my brother would die in prison, and I thought I would spend the rest of my life hiding in the shadows.”
Silvio smiled warmly from his wheelchair, his good eye crinkling with deep affection. “Arthur and Elena always believed that the true strength of this house would not come from alliances of greed, Master Alessandro. It comes from the heart of a woman who protects the weak and refuses to kneel before tyranny.”
Marco cleared his throat, holding an encrypted radio to his ear. “Boss. We have a priority intercept from the Vance compound in Milan.”
Alessandro’s expression instantly sharpened. “Report.”
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“Julian’s younger brother, Dominic Vance, has refused to acknowledge the council’s verdict,” Marco said grimly. “He has mobilized two hundred heavily armed contractors from their private security firm. They are en route to Como. They intend to breach the estate before the council capos can leave.”
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