Chapter 6 - The Night of the Red Moon
The night of the Rinaldi Gala arrived.
The mansion was transformed. Crystal chandeliers blazed with light. Champagne flowed like water.
Over a hundred guests, including capos, politicians, and rival bosses, filled the grand ballroom.
They were all there to pay their respects to the dying king and kiss the ring of the new one.
Dean looked immaculate in a custom tuxedo. Camille wore a stunning red dress, clinging to his arm like a queen.
Massimo was wheeled into the room by one of Dean's guards.
He looked terrible. Carla had used makeup to pale his skin and darken his eyes, making him look mere hours away from death.
A hush fell over the crowd as the Don was positioned at the head of the long banquet table.
Dean stood up, tapping a spoon against his crystal glass.
"Friends. Family," Dean began, his voice dripping with false sorrow. "We are gathered here to honor the greatest man I have ever known. Massimo Rinaldi."
Murmurs of respect echoed through the room.
"But sadly, we must face reality," Dean continued, placing a heavy hand on Massimo's weak shoulder.
"The cowardly attack six months ago has taken its toll. Massimo's body is failing. Tonight, he officially passes the torch to me, to lead this family into a new era."
Camille dabbed her dry eyes with a tissue. Dr. Hale stood in the corner, nodding solemnly.
Carla stood by the kitchen doors, holding Nina tightly against her chest. Her heart felt like it was going to explode.
Dean looked down at Massimo. "Is there anything you want to say, brother? Before you rest?"
Massimo slowly raised his head. His gray eyes swept across the room, locking onto the loyal old-guard capos—men who had served his father and grandfather.
"Yes," Massimo's voice was a harsh whisper. "I would like Dr. Hale to come here."
The crowd parted as the nervous doctor stepped forward. "Yes, Don Rinaldi?"
"Doctor," Massimo wheezed. "Tell everyone here... what is the exact cause of my paralysis?"
Dr. Hale swallowed hard. "Severe spinal trauma, sir. Nerve death."
Massimo reached into his vest pocket. He pulled out a small, glass vial filled with the white pills Carla had collected over the past month.
He tossed it onto the pristine white tablecloth. It clattered loudly.
"Then what are these?" Massimo asked. His voice was no longer a whisper. It echoed through the dead-silent room.
Dean's face instantly drained of color.
Dr. Hale took a step back, trembling. "I... I don't know what those are."
"You don't?" Massimo asked.
Suddenly, the speakers in the ballroom crackled to life.
Carla had connected her phone to the mansion's sound system.
Dean's voice boomed through the speakers: "Hale says his heart rate is dropping. Another week, maybe two, and the old man is history."
Camille's voice followed: "The moment he's gone, we take the Swiss accounts."
Gasps of horror and fury erupted from the mafia capos.
Dean panicked. He reached for the gun inside his jacket. "It's a fake! He's delusional!"
But before Dean's hand could even grip his weapon, Massimo's hands slammed down on the armrests of his wheelchair.
With a powerful, terrifying grace, the paralyzed Don pushed himself up.
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He stood.
Tall, straight, and exuding an aura of absolute, deadly power.
