Chapter 27 - The Summit at the Gates Two weeks later, the private airstrips surrounding Chicago’s executive terminals were flooded with private jets carrying the remaining regional dons of the national syndicate commission. They weren't coming to challenge the Vatello throne; they were coming to beg for terms.
The motorcade of black armored vehicles rolled through the reinforced iron gates of the Vatello estate under a slate-gray spring sky.
Inside the grand ballroom, hundreds of candles flickered against towering stone walls adorned with centuries of syndicate history. At the center of the dais stood two high-backed leather chairs. Dante sat in the left, his charcoal suit immaculate, his presence dominating the entire room without a single word spoken.
And in the right chair sat ten-year-old Leo Vatello.
The regional dons—men who had controlled ports, cartels, and political dynasties for decades—bowed their heads as they approached the dais. The undisputed hierarchy of the underworld had shifted permanently.
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"The Vatello syndicate accepts your tribute," Leo announced, his voice carrying clearly across the silent, cavernous hall. "In exchange, our borders remain open, our trade lines remain protected, and our authority remains absolute."
Not a single man in the room dared to raise an objection.
