Chapter 10 - The Ultimate Balance SheetThirty-six hours later, the mahogany boardroom of Castellano Holdings in downtown Boston was suffocatingly quiet.
Twenty of the most feared men in the Northeast sat around the massive glass table, their faces pale and sweating. At the head of the table sat Uncle Gino, swirling scotch in a heavy crystal glass, looking every bit the ruthless tyrant he believed himself to be.
"Let's dispense with the theatrics," Gino barked, slamming his glass down. "Rocco is dead. The boy couldn't handle the pressure. Effective immediately, I assume full control of—"
The heavy oak double doors of the boardroom swung open with a slow, deliberate creak.
All twenty heads snapped toward the entrance.
I walked in, wearing a custom-tailored charcoal three-piece suit, my posture upright, my eyes locked directly on my uncle. Behind me walked Salvatore and two armed guards.
Gino’s face drained of all color. He gripped the arms of his leather chair so hard his knuckles turned white.
"You..." Gino choked out, rising halfway to his feet. "You were supposed to be—"
"Buried?" I finished for him, walking slowly to the head of the table and placing the battered, water-stained leather ledger squarely in front of his seat.
I didn't yell. I didn't threaten him. I simply opened the cover to the final page, pointing my finger at the signature Ray Kesler had written thirty years ago.
"You killed Ray Kesler, Gino," I said quietly, the acoustic perfection of the boardroom carrying every syllable to every man in the room. "You killed the only person who ever protected this family out of genuine love, because you were terrified he would tell me the truth about my father's death."
Gino’s breath hitched. He looked at the ledger, then at the ring of hardened capos surrounding him—capos who now stared at him with cold, calculating betrayal in their eyes.
"Prove it," Gino spat, his voice cracking with panic.
I pulled out a small digital recorder from my pocket and pressed play.
Marco’s dying voice from the mining tunnels echoed through the silent boardroom: "Gino rigged the tunnels... he's burying us all..."
The room fell into an absolute, chilling silence.
I closed the ledger, leaning forward over the glass table until my face was inches from my uncle's.
"In this family, Gino," I whispered, echoing his own words back to him, "we don't forgive traitors. We keep them accountable."
I straightened up, snapped my fingers once, and turned toward the door.
"Take him to the docks," I told Salvatore without looking back. "And make sure he learns what it feels like to be completely forgotten."
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As the guards dragged my screaming uncle from the boardroom, I paused at the threshold, reaching into my pocket to touch the warm wrapper of the cinnamon roll Mia had given me on a cold sidewalk in Cedar Hollow.
The Castellano empire was mine again. But this time, it was built on truth—and nobody would ever laugh at a stranger on a sidewalk again.
