Chapter 3
Claire had not stumbled onto the room by accident.
That came next.
She had been looking for me.
Our driver told her I had moved from the council chamber to the reception hall.
She cut through the working cellar.
The door was slightly open.
Inside, Marina and Gavin were listening to one recording.
Mine.
Then another.
A senior capo.
Then another.
Claire heard Marina say:
“Three more and nobody challenges the harvest vote.”
I looked at my sister.
“What harvest vote?”
She laughed.
“Ask your capos.”
I did.
Right there.
Three men from the adjoining council room were brought into the cellar.
None wanted to speak first.
I waited.
Finally, Victor Renzi answered.
Marina had proposed a permanent Elder Steward position.
Not Boss.
Not Second Chair.
Something subtler.
An internal office with authority to review major family appointments and mediate disputes.
I stared.
“Who becomes Steward?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at Marina.
She smiled faintly.
Of course.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Why not propose it openly?”
“I did.”
I remembered.
Two years earlier.
I rejected it.
Not because Marina was incapable.
Because a permanent reviewer above every captain created two chains of authority.
Apparently she found another path.
“What was the harvest vote?”
Victor looked ashamed.
“Seven captains were reconsidering.”
“Because?”
Silence.
Marina answered.
“Because I know what they actually believe.”
I stared at the shelves.
There it was.
Not persuasion.
Leverage.
“What recordings?”
Victor looked away.
Marina listed them calmly.
One captain admitting he covered his son’s gambling debt.
Another insulting a senior relative.
Another questioning one of my decisions in private after supporting it publicly.
Nothing fatal.
Enough to embarrass.
Enough to pressure.
Enough to make men vote differently.
Claire whispered:
“That’s what I heard.”
I looked at her.
“Which part?”
“Marina said nobody needed to threaten them.”
Her voice shook.
“She said all they needed was to remind them which box had their name.”
My jaw tightened.
Gavin stared at the floor.
Marina did not.
She looked almost proud.
“You call it blackmail.”
“I didn’t yet.”
“You were going to.”
She knew me.
Unfortunately.
“What do you call it?”
“Accountability.”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
My voice stayed low.
“Accountability lets the person know they are being heard.”
May you like
Silence.
“This is ownership.”
