Chapter 10 - The Council Of Five
The grand dining room was illuminated by two massive crystal chandeliers hanging from fifty-foot vaulted ceilings.
The long mahogany table was surrounded by heavy leather chairs, each occupied by the most dangerous men on the eastern seaboard.
Captains from Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, and New Jersey sat in uneasy silence, their armed bodyguards lined up along the back wall like stone gargoyles.
The news of the Marseille dock raid had already hit the underworld wire.
Whispers of federal indictments and lost millions buzzed through the room like angry hornets.
The double oak doors at the end of the hall swung open with a heavy thud.
The four captains stood up instantly, bowing their heads in deep, practiced respect as Luca Valente entered the room.
He was dressed in a bespoke three-piece black suit, completely immaculate, showing no trace of the blood that had coated his shirt three hours earlier.
But what caused every single man in that room to freeze in utter disbelief was not Luca’s cold demeanor.
It was who walked beside him.
I stepped into the grand hall wearing a tailored emerald-green dress that Luca’s private stylists had delivered to my new suite less than an hour ago.
My hair was swept up, and though the faint bruise on my jaw was still visible, I kept my head held high, refusing to lower my eyes as I had for four years.
And walking between us, holding Luca’s massive right hand with her tiny left, was Mia.
She wore her favorite miniature black suit, her oversized dark sunglasses perched proudly on her tiny nose, and in her other hand, she held Barnaby, whose side had been cleanly mended with thick white thread.
A collective gasp rippled down the length of the mahogany table.
“Luca...” Captain Salvatore from Brooklyn began, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.
“What is this? We received word of an emergency council regarding the Marseille disaster. Why is a woman and a child present at the high table?”
Luca did not break stride.
He walked straight to the head of the table, pulling out the massive carved high-backed armchair that had belonged to his father.
Instead of taking the seat himself, Luca lifted Mia by her waist and placed her directly into the center of the Don’s throne.
Mia adjusted her sunglasses, kicked her little patent-leather shoes against the polished wood, and propped Barnaby on the table like an executive briefcase.
Luca stood tall on her right side, his hand resting firmly on the carved back of the chair.
I took my place on her left, standing straight and composed.
“Gentlemen,” Luca’s voice boomed across the vast chamber, echoing with lethal authority.
“The Marseille shipment was compromised because Julian Mela sold the family to federal authorities for twenty million dollars.”
Shouts of shock and angry denials erupted from the captains.
“Julian? That’s impossible!” Salvatore barked.
“He’s been with us since the old Don was walking!”
Luca slammed Julian’s onyx hawk ring onto the center of the table with a sound like a gunshot.
The captains instantly fell dead silent, staring at the shattered signet ring.
“Julian is currently floating in the harbor, answering to the men he tried to double-cross,” Luca stated with absolute finality.
“And the only reason every man sitting at this table is not currently wearing federal handcuffs is because of this child.”
Luca pointed down at Mia, whose small hands rested innocently on the mahogany surface.
“She uncovered the drop ledger Julian left in the east wing. Her mother took the blows of two assassins to keep that paper safe from destruction.”
Luca leaned forward, planting both hands on the table, his stormy gaze sweeping across the stunned faces of his top commanders.
“From this day forward, hear my decree clearly,” Luca commanded, his voice cutting like a steel blade through the room.
“Anna is the mistress of this estate. And Mia is the sole blood heir to the Valente family name.”
A stunned silence smothered the chamber.
No one dared to breathe.
Salvatore’s eyes darted between Luca, me, and the little girl sitting on the throne of the empire.
Slowly, Salvatore lowered his head, followed by the captains from Queens, Staten Island, and New Jersey.
“Long live the Don,” Salvatore murmured, bowing his head toward Mia.
“And long live the heir.”
Mia looked over at Luca, a bright, triumphant smile breaking across her tiny face.
May you like
“Mr. Luca,” she whispered, her voice echoing clearly in the quiet room.
“Does this mean I get an extra strawberry for lunch?”
