Chapter 12 - The Trial of the GodfatherThree weeks later, the subterranean tribunal room beneath the Venturi estate is dead silent. Twelve senior capos and neutral arbiters from the old families sit in a solemn semicircle around a polished mahogany table. In the center stands Dante, his gray hair unkempt, his tailored suit wrinkled, handcuffed to a steel ring embedded in the floor.
Luciano sits at the head of the table, flanked by Marco and Elena, who holds a folder containing the digital forensics of Dante’s treason. Felix and Theo are safely tucked away in the upper west wing, shielded from the brutal reality of underworld politics.
“Dante Rossi,” Luciano speaks, his voice echoing off the stone walls with chilling resonance. “You swore an oath of blood on my father’s altar. You held me in your arms when I was a child and taught me the code of honor. And yet, you sold our ports, orchestrated Bernadette’s infiltration, and tried to slaughter my household.”
Dante chuckles, a dry, rasping sound. “Honor? You think honor builds empires, Luciano? Money and power build empires. You’re just a boy playing dress-up in a dead man’s shoes.”
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Luciano stands up slowly, walking around the table until he stands inches away from the traitor. Without a word, he pulls his father’s heavy gold signet ring from his pocket and drops it onto the concrete floor with a sharp, echoing clank.
“You forfeited your right to the bloodline the moment you betrayed the family,” Luciano whispers. “Marco, carry out the sentence.”
