The morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my high-rise apartment was cold, grey, and unforgiving. On my glass coffee table sat the leather-bound document Nikolai Moretti’s lawyer had delivered precisely at eight o'clock.

The air was heavy with the smell of cigars, aged leather, and impending judgment.

At the center of the grand circular room stood three high chairs. Sitting in the middle was Vittorio Moretti, looking frail but imposing, holding his silver-topped cane like a sceptre.

To his right sat Nikolai. To his left sat Julian—dressed in a prison jumpsuit, guarded by four heavily armed enforcers.

I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a tailored black velvet suit, flanked by Victor and three senior logisticians from the newly rebranded Moretti-Hart Maritime Network.

"This council is convened," Vittorio declared, his voice cutting through the hushed murmurs of the room. "We are here to choose the next Don of the Moretti family. Julian Moretti... you stand accused of treason, embezzlement, and conspiracy with the Russian syndicate."

Julian stepped forward, his face thin and pale, his eyes dark with desperation. "Father! Members of the council! I was framed!" he shouted, pointing a frantic finger toward Nikolai. "My brother forged those documents! He seductively manipulated Evelyn Hart into handing him her family's shipping network just to strip me of my leverage!"

A low murmur rippled through the capos in the gallery.

Julian turned toward the crowd, playing his final card. "Nikolai doesn't care about this family! He married a civilian woman—a rejected Hart daughter—just to secure her freight routes! He used her! He is trading our bloodline's honor for corporate dominance!"

One of the senior capos, a brutal man named Sal Dante who controlled the southern docks, leaned forward. "Julian makes a point, Don Vittorio. Nikolai’s alliance with the Hart girl is purely commercial. We are a family of blood and tradition. We don't take orders from an outsider corporate girl."

Julian let out a triumphant smirk, believing he had finally turned the tide.

Then, Nikolai stood up.

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't gesticulate. He simply unbuttoned his coat and walked slowly down to the center floor, stopping right beside his brother.

"You call Evelyn an outsider, Sal?" Nikolai asked, turning his head toward the senior capo. "You call the woman who personally dismantled Volkov’s infiltration team an outsider?"

Nikolai turned toward the gallery and held out his hand. "Evelyn. Step forward."

I stood up from my chair. With every eye in the room locked onto me, I walked down the marble steps into the center of the council floor, stopping beside Nikolai.

Nikolai took my right hand and raised it into the air.

Glowing brightly on my finger in the overhead spotlights was the blackened gold signet ring—the ancient crest of the Moretti Syndicate.

The entire council room gasped.

Sal Dante dropped his cigar onto the table. "The Black Raven... you gave her the Black Raven signet?!"

"I didn't give it to her because she is my wife," Nikolai announced, his voice booming through the chamber with terrifying power. "I gave it to her because she is the Commander of the Northern Fleet. As of six o'clock this morning, Evelyn has integrated Hart Shipping into our infrastructure, secured exclusive forty-year municipal permits from the Mayor, and seized three hundred million dollars in Russian assets."

Nikolai looked down at his brother with absolute disgust.

"Julian offered you a foolish girl and stolen money," Nikolai said. "Evelyn brought you the entire city of Chicago on a silver platter."

Old Vittorio leaned forward, his dark eyes glowing with supreme pride. He slammed his cane against the floor three times.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

"The vote is settled!" Vittorio roared. "Nikolai Moretti is declared Don of the Moretti Syndicate!"

The entire room erupted into thunderous applause. Capos stood up, raising their glasses, bowing their heads toward Nikolai.

Julian collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands, weeping openly as his total defeat was sealed.

Nikolai turned to me in the middle of the roaring crowd. He didn't look at the capos cheering his name. He didn't look at his father. He looked only at me.