Chapter 7 - A Scent of Salt Water and Burning LithiumAlexander stepped off the raised platform, walking slowly down the ramp until the toe of his leather oxford rested against Marcus’s ribs.
“You asked me to stay a broken monarch, Marcus,” Alexander whispered, his voice quiet enough that every soul in the vast room leaned forward to hear.
Marcus looked up through swollen eyes, trembling like a wet dog.
“Alexander... please... have mercy... I gave twenty years to your father!”
“My mercy, Marcus,” Alexander said softly, “is that you will spend the next forty years in a federal penitentiary at ADX Florence, watching the sun rise through a four-inch slit in a concrete wall, knowing that the child of the woman who washed your shirts holds your seat at the table.”
He looked at Frank.
“Deliver Marcus Vance to Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance at the federal building on Foley Square alongside these ledgers. Let the law take every dime he ever hid.”
Marcus shrieked, clawing at the stone as two armed operators dragged him backward down the aisle, his pathetic, echoing cries fading into the roar of the ocean surf outside until the heavy steel doors clicked shut forever.
Silence returned to the grand council chamber.
Pure, clean, and vast.
Alexander turned back to the sixty syndicate commanders standing along the table.
“From this day forward,” he declared, his voice echoing across the vaulted ceiling, “the Moretti Syndicate does not operate on poisoned contracts, hidden kickbacks, or the exploitation of our workforce. We build the rail lines. We move the freight. We defend the families who sweat on our docks.”
He looked down at Mia, then at Rose.
“Rose Keller is appointed Executive Trustee of the Board of Overseers, with full veto power over every commercial harbor license in this state. Her word is my law in this territory. Anyone who fails to treat her and her daughter with the honor due to the sovereign seat will answer directly to my barrel.”
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Don Carmine Falcone raised his heavy crystal glass into the air, his gravelly voice leading the assembly in a thunderous, room-shaking roar that rattled the chandeliers overhead:
“To Donna Rose! To young Mia! To Don Alexander! Long live the Iron Monarch!”
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