Chapter 10
The bodyguards hauled Diane to her feet, completely ignoring her pathetic weeping and desperate apologies. They escorted her roughly out of the room, leaving the donor lounge purged of the traitors. The remaining guests, the wealthy donors and mafia associates who had witnessed the ruthless, calculated purge, stood completely silent, terrified that Cesare’s wrath might suddenly turn on them.
"To our guests," Cesare said, his voice returning to a smooth, sophisticated tone that belied the extreme violence he had just committed. "I apologize for the disruption. The Lombardi family values loyalty and transparency. Those who share these values. Have nothing to fear. Please, enjoy the rest of the gala. The bar is open."
No one moved for a long moment, but slowly, the tension began to break. The guests nodded nervously, whispering among themselves as they filtered out of the donor lounge and back into the main museum halls, eager to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Boss.
Cesare stood alone in the center of the ruined lounge. The overturned dive-equipment case, the scattered foam coral, and the shattered glass were stark, vivid reminders of the storm that had just passed.
He walked over to the long banquet table and knelt down. He reached under the heavy silk tablecloth and retrieved the handmade paper card that Avice had dropped during the initial assault. He stood up and brushed the dust from the colorful crayon drawings.
Julian approached him slowly, holding Avice's hand.
"Father," Julian said softly. "I will never fail her again. I swear it on my life."
"See that you don't," Cesare replied, not looking at his son. He knelt down in front of Avice and held out the handmade card. "Is this for me. Little bird?"
Avice smiled, a bright, genuine expression that chased away the dark shadows of the evening. "Yes, Grandpa. I drew a picture of us."
Cesare opened the card. Inside, drawn with crude but vibrant crayons, was a picture of a tall man with a beard holding the hand of a small girl.
"It is a masterpiece," Cesare murmured, his cold eyes softening entirely. He tucked the card safely into the inner pocket of his unbuttoned shirt, right against his heart.
He stood up, taking Avice's other hand, and led her toward the exit. The immediate threats had been neutralized, the conspirators punished, and his empire secured. But as they walked down the dimly lit corridor of the marine museum, Cesare’s encrypted smartphone vibrated heavily in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A single, ominous text message glowed in the darkness.
May you like
The Cole patriarch refused the terms. He hired the Chicago outfit. They are already in Boston.
Cesare’s jaw tightened. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, his grip on Avice’s hand remaining gentle and firm. The internal purge was complete, but the war for the city had just begun. He looked out into the dark night beyond the museum's glass doors, a cold, dangerous smile touching his lips. He was ready.
