Chapter 5
The vivid, bright colors of the recovery room were now tainted with blood and shattered dignity. The cinematic lighting exposed the sheer terror on the faces of the fallen Castellano elites. The white American bodyguards standing by the door remained absolutely frozen in their professional dark suits, their loyalty firmly anchored to the man in the custom black wheelchair.
"Vincent," Angelo said, his deep, measured voice cutting through the heavy silence.
"Yes, Boss," the lead bodyguard replied instantly, stepping forward into the bright light.
"Secure the door," Angelo commanded, resting his tattooed hands on the armrests of his chair. "No one leaves this room until I have finished speaking."
"Understood," Vincent said, locking the heavy double doors with a resounding metallic click.
Dominic groaned, spitting blood onto the pristine white tiles as he managed to push himself up onto his hands and knees. His expensive tailored suit was covered in dust from the crushed therapy blocks. He looked up at Angelo, his fair, rosy face contorted with a mixture of agony and humiliated rage.
"You think this changes anything?" Dominic wheezed, his American accent slurring through his shattered jaw. "The capos on the street answer to me now, Angelo. They know you're weak. They know you can't lead them from that chair."
"You confuse physical mobility... with power, Dominic," Angelo replied, his volume remaining dangerously low. The charming, romantic strands of hair falling over his forehead stood in stark contrast to his lethal demeanor. "A mistake... that has just cost you everything."
Helena whimpered from the floor, clutching her pearl necklace as she tried to untangle her high heels from the scattered towels. "Angelo, you have lost your mind. The Commission will hear of this! You struck a senior member of the family!"
"The Commission... answers to me," Angelo stated coldly. He slowly propelled his wheelchair closer to Dominic, forcing the older man to look up into his cold, sharp eyes.
"She’s not going anywhere," Angelo whispered, his gaze flicking briefly to Emma, who was still holding Noah tightly against her chest. He then locked his dead eyes back onto his cousin. "You’re the one... getting out."
Dominic’s face became a portrait of pure, paralyzing fright. The color drained entirely from his skin. "You can't exile me. I'm your blood!"
"You stopped being my blood... the second you raised your hand... to a child," Angelo declared with absolute, apocalyptic finality. He looked at Vincent. "Strip him of his capo pin. Take his phone, his keys, and his weapon. Have him escorted to the city limits. If he ever steps foot on my territory again... execute him."
"No! Please, Angelo!" Dominic begged as two massive bodyguards hauled him to his feet, ripping the heavy gold pin from his lapel. "I was just trying to protect the family!"
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"Take my aunt to her quarters," Angelo ordered, completely ignoring his cousin's frantic pleas. "She has one hour to pack her bags before she is permanently relocated to the secure compound in the north. She is stripped of all communication privileges."
As the guards dragged the screaming, pleading traitors out of the recovery room, the heavy doors closed, leaving Angelo alone in the bright, cinematic light with the trembling maid and her child.
