Chapter 6 - The Council at Five-Thirty A.M.By 5:30 A.M., the grand mahogany-paneled dining room of the Falcone Mansion was illuminated by three massive crystal chandeliers casting golden, dancing reflections across forty high-ranking syndicate leaders, legal counsels, and regional bosses.
At the head of the twenty-foot mahogany table sat Carmine Rossi, wearing a bespoke dark velvet suit, sipping vintage scotch, a arrogant, victorious smile playing on his lips.
Beside him sat Dr. Arthur Vance, who was sweating profusely, his hands trembling as he adjusted his silk tie.
"Gentlemen," Carmine announced smoothly, raising his glass to the forty captains sitting around the table. "As you all know, our beloved leader, Gabriel Falcone, tragically passed away at eleven forty-two P.M. last night due to complications from his ambush wounds."
A fake murmur of sorrow rippled through the table, though several lieutenants were already scanning the territorial maps spread across the wood.
"Under the emergency provisions of our charter," Carmine continued, standing up slowly, leaning his broad hands over the table, "I am stepping forward as the interim Don of Chicago. All secondary shipping accounts, private real estate trusts, and logistics networks will be transferred into my primary holding firm by noon today."
"Are you sure the ink is dry on that transfer, Carmine?" a thunderous baritone echoed from the grand entrance archway.
BOOM!
The massive, twelve-foot carved oak double doors of the grand dining room were thrown wide with a sharp, heavy force that made the crystal chandeliers rattle above.
The forty captains jumped out of their chairs in total, spellbound shock.
Walking down the central carpeted aisle, flanked by thirty loyal security operators led by Victor, was Gabriel Falcone.
He wore a dark tailored suit over his broad frame, his posture tall, broad, and sovereign, his dark hair slicked back, his storm-gray eyes holding a lethal, freezing fire that dropped the temperature in the room below zero.
And walking directly beside his right shoulder, wearing a simple, clean dark wool dress provided by the estate wardrobe, her posture straight, her hazel eyes holding zero fear, was me.
Carmine Rossi dropped his scotch glass.
May you like
CRASH!
The crystal glass shattered into a hundred glittering shards against the parquet floorboards.
