Chapter 10
The elite members of the Bellori family and the senior capos sat frozen in their chairs as Orson returned to the dining hall. They noticed that he had returned alone. They noticed the absolute, terrifying stillness in his posture. No one dared to ask where Tamsin was.
Orson walked slowly toward the head of the table. He did not sit down. He stood behind his chair, his hands resting on the high wooden back, the artistic tattoos on his fingers stark against the dark wood.
"My cousin will no longer be joining us," Orson announced. His deep, slightly raspy voice carried effortlessly across the room, measured, cold, and final.
Several capos swallowed hard, nodding in silent, unquestioning agreement.
Orson shifted his gaze to the small chair beside him. Mara was sitting quietly, eating a slice of cake, the plastic inhaler resting safely next to her plate. The sight of her, innocent and unharmed, fortified the dark, violent resolve burning inside his chest.
"Listen to me very carefully," Orson commanded, raising his volume just enough to command absolute attention. "The Moretti syndicate has broken the truce. They have purchased a traitor within our ranks, and they are mobilizing a strike team to hit this estate tonight. They believe we are unprepared."
A shockwave of murmurs and sudden, panicked movement rippled through the capos. Men reached for their suit jackets, their combat instincts immediately overriding their dinner etiquette.
"Sit down," Orson ordered softly.
The men instantly froze, dropping back into their seats.
"We do not panic," Orson continued, his voice a steady, unbreakable anchor in the escalating storm. "We do not run. We are Bellori. We invite them in, and we close the door behind them."
He looked at his most trusted underboss, a heavily built man sitting near the center of the table. "Marcus. Secure the women and children in the underground bunker. Move my daughter first."
"Yes, Boss," Marcus nodded, immediately standing up and gesturing to the bodyguards.
"Once the civilians are secured," Orson said, a cold, dangerous smirk touching the corners of his mouth, "I want every man armed with heavy weaponry. Cut the exterior lights. Open the main gates. Let the Moretti strike team walk into the courtyard. And when they are entirely inside the walls, you will unleash hell."
"It will be a bloodbath, Orson," an older capo warned, his face pale.
"It will be an extermination," Orson corrected him smoothly.
He walked around the table, kneeling beside Mara’s chair one last time. He kissed her cheek, smiling gently as the nanny came to whisk her away to safety.
"I love you, Daddy," Mara whispered, hugging his neck.
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"I love you too, my sweet girl. I will see you in the morning," Orson promised.
He stood up, watching the heavy doors close behind her. The bright, cinematic lighting of the dining hall felt stark and imposing. The battle lines were drawn. The silence of the estate was about to be shattered by the deafening roar of automatic weapons, and Orson Bellori was ready to drown the rival syndicate in their own blood. The war had just begun.
