Chapter 6
The underground warehouse on the South Side of Chicago was a stark contrast to the luminous concert hall. Here, the air was cold, smelling of damp concrete, rust, and the metallic tang of the nearby river. The lighting was harsh, casting long, sharp shadows across the floor.
Vittorio sat at the head of a long, heavy oak table. He had removed his suit jacket, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing more of the elegant, dark tattoos that marked his skin. His presence filled the cavernous room, a silent, brooding force of nature.
Seated around the table were five elderly men—the heads of the Chicago Commission. They were men of immense wealth and power, their faces weathered by decades of syndicate warfare. They sat in silence, reviewing the thick manila folders Vittorio had placed before them.
At the far end of the room, kneeling on the cold concrete with their hands bound behind their backs, were Bianca and Owen. They were shivering, stripped of their expensive jewelry and arrogant facades.
"The evidence is irrefutable," Elias, the oldest of the Commission members, spoke. His voice was like grinding stones. "Wire transfers to Moscow. Secret meetings at the shipyard. Forged signatures on the union contracts. They were attempting a hostile takeover of the Greco territory."
"And they used the boy as their political leverage," Vittorio added smoothly, his raspy voice echoing in the large room. "They spread rumors among the capos that I was unfit to lead because I focused on my son's medical care. They attempted to fracture my leadership."
"Treason," another elder muttered, shaking his head. "In the old days, they would have been buried under the foundation of the new casino."
Owen looked up, his face a bruised, swollen mask of desperation. "We were trying to modernize! Vittorio is stuck in the past! He refuses to traffic in narcotics! The Russians offered us a pipeline that would triple the family's income!"
Vittorio’s eyes darkened into a terrifying, bottomless black. He leaned forward, resting his tattooed hands on the oak table.
"We do not deal in poison," Vittorio said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "That was the rule my father established. That is the rule I maintain. You brought poison to our doorstep for your own greed."
Bianca wept openly, her fair skin smeared with dirt and tears. "Elias, please! I am a Greco! My blood built this city alongside yours! Show me mercy!"
Elias looked at her with cold, dead eyes. "Your blood does not excuse your betrayal, Bianca. It only makes it worse."
The elders murmured amongst themselves for a few moments. The decision was foregone. The rules of their world were absolute, written in stone and enforced by lead.
Elias turned back to Vittorio. "The Commission finds them guilty of high treason. Their assets are forfeit. Their lives are forfeit. The sentence is yours to carry out, Vittorio. It is your house they sought to burn."
May you like
Vittorio nodded slowly. He stood up from the table, adjusting his cuffs. He looked down the length of the room at his sister and her husband.
"Take them to the shipping yard," Vittorio ordered his men. "Put them in a container bound for the deep ocean. Let them drown in the ambition they prized so highly."
