Chapter 9 - The Summit of BloodThree days later.
The penthouse suite of the Vale Tower in downtown Chicago was pitch black, save for the neon glow of the city skyline piercing through floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass.
Around the massive mahogany conference table sat the twelve regional capos of the syndicate. Tension hung in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Rumors had been swirling through the underground like wildfire: Lorenzo Vale was gone, Elena Vale had risen from the grave, and the boss had called an emergency tribunal.
The heavy double doors swung open.
I walked in, wearing a tailored three-piece charcoal suit, my posture rigid, my expression like carved granite. Behind me walked Marcus, wheeling a heavy, steel-framed chair.
Tied securely to that chair, battered, bruised, and wearing a canvas sack over his head, was Lorenzo.
A murmur rippled through the table. Several capos shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes darting nervously toward each other. I knew then that Lorenzo hadn't acted entirely alone; he had bought off a few greedy cowards at this very table.
“Gentlemen,” I said, my voice echoing smoothly across the cavernous room as I took my seat at the head of the table.
I didn't blink. I slowly pulled a silver cigar cutter from my pocket and began to play with it, the metallic clack-clack sounding like a countdown timer.
“I called you here today to discuss family matters,” I continued, leaning forward. “For twelve years, I believed my family was wiped out by our enemies. For twelve years, I shed blood to protect this empire, believing my inner circle was a brotherhood of iron.”
I pointed the cigar cutter directly at the bound figure in the center of the room.
“I was wrong.”
Marcus stepped forward and ripped the canvas sack off Lorenzo’s head.
Lorenzo winced under the harsh overhead light, his lips split, his eye swollen shut. He sneered around a mouthful of blood, looking directly at the capos seated around the table.
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“Come on, brothers!” Lorenzo choked out, his voice desperate. “Are you just going to sit there and let him play dictator? He’s losing his mind! He’s bringing dead girls back from the dead! If we don't take him down tonight, he’ll slaughter every single one of us!”
Silence descended over the room. Not a single capo moved. Not a single hand reached for a weapon. They looked at Lorenzo like he was already a ghost, and then they looked at me—realizing with absolute horror that I knew everything.
