Chapter 6
"I hold plenty of power," Conrad sneered, a sudden, desperate flash of arrogance pushing through his terror. "I manage the entire eastern logistics network. Without me, the ports freeze. You need me, Domenico. You might be the boss, but you can't run the shipments without my signatures."
Domenico leaned back slowly in his chair. He watched his cousin with the detached, clinical fascination of a scientist observing a dying insect.
"You believe you are indispensable," Domenico murmured, his deep voice scraping against the quiet room. "You think your position grants you immunity. Is that why you felt confident enough to strike at my son? Because you thought I would be forced to look the other way?"
"I think you need to prioritize the business over a temper tantrum!" Conrad yelled, his face flushing red again. "My son is eight years old! He understands how this family works! He understands respect! Your boy is soft, just like his mother was!"
The air in the room seemed to freeze solid. The mention of Domenico’s late wife, a topic strictly forbidden within the family ranks, hung in the air like a live grenade.
Domenico’s eyes went completely dead. He did not shout. He did not move abruptly. He simply sat in the heavy chair, a statue of pure, unadulterated menace.
"You mention my wife," Domenico whispered, the words slipping out like liquid ice.
"Conrad, shut your mouth," Miriam hissed, reaching over to slap her nephew’s arm, finally realizing that they had just crossed an unforgivable line.
"No, let him speak," Domenico instructed, his gaze fixed on Conrad. "He is finally being honest. You resent Eli because he is the heir. You believe your son should be next in line. You believe that because my wife was not born into this life, her blood taints the succession."
Conrad swallowed hard, realizing too late that his anger had betrayed his deepest, most treasonous thoughts. He tried to backtrack, raising his hands defensively. "I didn't mean it like that, Dom. I just meant that we need a strong lineage. We need boys who are hardened."
"And you decided to harden him with a steel rod," Domenico concluded, perfectly summarizing the horrific logic. "You harbored resentment. You let it fester in the dark. And today, the resentment boiled over because you could not control your jealousy."
"It isn't just jealousy!" Miriam interjected, desperate to regain control of the narrative. "It is about the survival of the family! You are isolating the old guard, Domenico! You are pushing out the very people who built this syndicate, replacing them with your corporate lawyers and your silent bodyguards. We feel like we are being erased!"
"You feel erased," Domenico repeated slowly. He rested his forearms on the desk, interlacing his tattooed fingers. "Miriam. I have given you a stipend that exceeds the GDP of a small island. I have given Conrad the ports. And your gratitude is to plot against my three-year-old child."
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"We weren't plotting!" Conrad shouted.
Before Domenico could respond, the heavy mahogany door clicked open. A senior capo stepped into the room, holding a small, sealed plastic evidence bag.
