Chapter 8
The private capos had been primed for months.
Not all of them.
That distinction mattered.
Diane had focused on men old enough to romanticize succession but young enough to fear losing influence.
She invited them to Sunday lunches.
Museum donor previews.
Private dinners.
Never formal meetings.
Always conversations that could be dismissed as family concern.
I brought six of them back to the marine museum the following afternoon.
Same donor lounge.
No gowns.
No public audience.
I placed the padded belly on the table.
Nobody enjoyed looking at it.
Good.
Raymond Voss spoke first.
“She told us Vanessa was carrying a boy.”
“Yes.”
“She told us Julian needed more responsibility.”
“Yes.”
“She told us you were considering naming him underboss.”
“No.”
That changed the room.
Diane sat at the far end.
Still composed.
One capo turned toward her.
“You said Cesare wanted continuity settled before the birth.”
She shrugged.
“He would have.”
I almost laughed.
Again.
Consent by prediction.
Another capo looked at me.
“Were you considering Julian?”
“Yes.”
Julian turned toward me.
Surprised.
I continued.
“Before this.”
Important.
My son had experience.
Judgment when he used it.
Loyal captains.
He was a legitimate candidate.
That made Diane’s scheme more stupid, not less.
“You manipulated something Julian might have earned honestly.”
Diane’s eyes hardened.
“Honesty is slow.”
There.
Her worldview in three words.
I looked around the table.
“She thought a fake boy could do what Julian’s actual work had not finished doing.”
No one answered.
Then I asked:
“Who here believes an unborn male child should affect who becomes underboss?”
Two men looked uncomfortable.
Good.
Not zero.
Truth matters more than performance.
One finally said:
“Legacy affects stability.”
“Explain.”
He hesitated.
“Men worry about what happens after.”
“After Julian?”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Then you were discussing leadership two generations ahead using a child who never existed.”
The sentence sounded ridiculous because it was.
The capo looked down.
Diane hated that.
She had wrapped superstition in strategy.
I unwrapped it.
Then Raymond said:
“What about Avice?”
I looked at him.
“What about her?”
“Does she have standing?”
I answered simply.
“She has childhood.”
May you like
Silence.
“At three, that is enough.”
