Chapter 4 - The Boardroom TrapAt 10:00 AM, the grand mahogany conference room on the top floor of Vance Global Headquarters in downtown Chicago was packed with thirty senior syndicate captains, union bosses, and corporate directors.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a heavy November snowstorm blanketed the city skyline in white.
Sitting at the head of the long executive table, wearing a dark charcoal suit, looking calm and relaxed, was Lorenzo Vale. He held a leather binder containing the quarterly logistics report, chatting casually with two harbor directors.
"Where is Don Julian?" Captain Donatelli asked, checking his watch. "He called an emergency council meeting for ten o'clock sharp."
"He'll be here shortly, Donatelli," Lorenzo smiled smoothly, taking a sip of his espresso. "He had a minor domestic security matter to clear up at his estate early this morning."
BOOM!
The massive, double mahogany doors of the grand boardroom were thrown open with thunderous force.
The ambient chatter in the room died instantly into a total, freezing silence.
Walking down the central carpeted aisle, flanked by Marco Rossi and twenty armed operators carrying suppressed tactical weapons, was me.
I wore an immaculate black three-piece suit, my posture tall, broad, and unyielding.
And walking directly beside my right shoulder, her spine straight, her head held high, wearing an exquisite midnight-blue silk dress that highlighted every curve of her figure, holding her head like a queen, was Beatrice Gallagher.
Lorenzo’s espresso cup froze mid-air.
His face turned from a flush of arrogant composure to a pale, mottled shade of grey in less than two seconds. His bloodshot eyes bulged out of his head as he stared at the woman he believed had been eliminated hours ago.
"Julian...?" Lorenzo stammered, his voice cracking into a high, frantic squeak. "What... what is the meaning of this?! Why is the night cleaning girl in the executive council room?!"
I didn't answer him.
I walked straight to the head of the conference table, pulling out the massive leather executive chair at the center, and held it open for Beatrice.
Beatrice sat down in the Don's chair with a quiet, royal grace, placing her hands flat against the mahogany surface.
The thirty captains gasped in utter, horror-stricken shock.
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"Sit down, Lorenzo," I commanded flatly.
My voice carried across the silent room like a rolling wave of thunder, freezing the blood in Lorenzo's veins.
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