THE MAFIA'S BROKEN EMPEROR / Chapter 3 / 16

Chapter 2 - The Titanium Clamp in the SconcesThe library doors rattled as the external security locks disengaged with a series of hydraulic thuds.

Standing in the threshold, rifles raised and eyes wide with paralyzed shock, were twelve veteran boardwalk enforcers—men who had served my father for thirty years before Silvio had relegated them to perimeter watch.

At their head stood Frank Russo, my father’s oldest lieutenant, his weathered face carved from Atlantic salt and old scar tissue.

Frank lowered his shotgun, his gaze dropping from my standing, towering frame to Silvio pinned beneath my knees on the floor.

“Mother of God,” Frank whispered, crossing himself with his left hand. “The Emperor is on his feet.”

“Disarm Marco,” I commanded, my baritone vibrating through the vaulted ceiling like a foghorn. “Search Silvio’s pockets. Take the master security keycard.”

Four soldiers moved with mechanical speed, stripping Marco’s unconscious body and dragging him into the corridor, while Frank knelt beside me, handing me a clean linen towel to wipe the sweat from my eyes.

Silvio was wheezing, his hands clawing weakly at the carpet, blood leaking from his nose where his face had struck the parquet.

“Dante... wait,” Silvio gasped, tears of raw terror spilling over his cheeks. “Dr. Mercer... at Mount Sinai... he has the release key! It’s an electromagnetic lock... you can't cut it without the radio-frequency emitter!”

Toby walked over from the piano bench, holding the oilcloth pouch in his hands.

With steady fingers, the nine-year-old unknotted the leather twine and peeled back the waxed canvas.

Inside lay an unexecuted probate file stamped with the seal of the New Jersey Superior Court, alongside a small, cylindrical aluminum pill container sealed with medical wax.

Toby unscrewed the aluminum cap and turned it over into my open palm.

Out fell an antique silver-plated electronic transponder key, stamped with the caduceus crest of Mount Sinai Hospital.

“The lady said she stole the emitter from the surgeon’s locker forty minutes after the operation,” Toby whispered, looking down at Silvio with total detachment. “She kept it in her jewelry safe until she knew you were ready to hear the music.”

I closed my fist around the silver key.

I looked down at Silvio, my eyes cold, flat, and devoid of a single drop of human mercy.

“You told me she died holding my hand, Silvio,” I said softly.

“Dante, please—we are blood! I raised you after your father went down in the bay!”

“You didn't raise me, Silvio,” I murmured, rising to my full height, leaning my weight against the edge of the grand piano while my dormant nerves roared with returning life. “You harvested me.”

I looked at Frank Russo.

“Take Silvio down to the salt cellars beneath the boardwalk casino. Strap him to the iron chair where we used to interrogate the counterfeiters. If he tries to speak to anyone outside this room, cut out his tongue.”

Silvio screamed as two soldiers dragged him backward through the double doors, his manicured heels scraping across the oak floorboards until the heavy doors clicked shut.

Silence returned to the conservatory.

Pure, clean, and vast.

I turned toward the boy standing beside the piano.

Toby was watching me, his small hands buried in his tweed coat pockets, his chin lifted with quiet, unyielding courage.