Chapter 21
The tranquility of the Marconi estate lasted exactly three weeks. The bright, cinematic sunlight that bathed the pristine lawns was a sharp contrast to the storm gathering on the horizon. Raffaele sat in his mahogany-lined study, watching Noah play quietly with his wooden cars on the Persian rug. The heavy oak doors swung open, and Vincent stepped inside, his expression grim.
"Boss," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low, tense register. "We received a summons. The National Commission."
Raffaele’s dark, intimidating eyes narrowed into lethal slits. "They are demanding a sit-down?"
"Not just a sit-down," Vincent corrected, handing over an embossed, heavy card. "A tribunal. They are terrified of what you did in Chicago. You wiped out the Grecos without their permission, and now they claim you have grown too powerful. They want you in New York by tomorrow night."
Raffaele looked down at Noah, who giggled as he crashed two toy cars together. The protective, violent instinct flared instantly in his chest.
"If I go to New York, they will try to cage me," Raffaele murmured softly, his American accent crisp and measured. "And if I don't go, they will send their armies here."
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"What are your orders, Mr. Marconi?" Vincent asked, ready for war.
"Prepare the jet," Raffaele commanded, standing up and adjusting his tailored suit. "I will not wait for them to bring the war to my son. I will take it to them."
