Chapter 9
The Vale council met without Sebastian.
He hated that more than being removed.
Good.
Power loss becomes real when the room continues.
Five capos came to the hospital’s private conference floor.
None wore weapons openly.
None needed to.
I remained in a wheelchair because Claire threatened to sedate me herself if I tried walking that far.
Fair.
Evan sat behind me.
Not beside.
His choice.
Still angry.
Still present.
I told the capos everything.
No dramatic labels.
Sebastian contacted Doreen.
He encouraged the transfer.
Mapped hospital access.
Signed as witness.
Intended to influence Miles separately from my household.
When I finished, Capo Brennan asked:
“Was the boy actually going to Callie permanently?”
Interesting question.
“Does it matter?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“If Sebastian planned to reclaim him later—”
I cut him off.
“No.”
Then stopped.
Old habit.
Interrupting.
I breathed.
“Finish.”
Brennan looked surprised.
Then continued.
“If Sebastian intended to raise Miles eventually inside Vale territory, this was bigger than satisfying Doreen.”
Correct.
That was exactly why the question mattered.
I nodded.
“We don’t know.”
Another capo, Martin Vale, my father’s cousin, spoke.
“I think we do.”
He had heard Sebastian discussing a “male household” months earlier.
Not Miles by name.
Not yet.
A future residence where senior boys of the family would train away from domestic influence.
My skin went cold.
“Domestic influence.”
Meaning mothers.
Wives.
Ordinary family attachments.
Sebastian wanted old-school grooming.
A Vale son raised by Vale men.
Evan’s face hardened behind me.
Brennan looked disgusted.
Good.
Not all old men wanted the old world back.
I asked:
“Who agreed?”
Two names.
Both captains.
Both present.
I looked at them.
One lowered his eyes.
The other did not.
“Did you know about Miles?”
“No.”
“Would you have supported it?”
Silence.
Then:
“Before today? Maybe.”
Honest.
Useful.
“And now?”
He looked toward the maternity floor above us.
“No.”
Good.
Not because I needed agreement.
May you like
Because reality had forced the abstract idea into a bassinet.
Tradition sounds cleaner before you picture the mother reaching from a hospital bed.
