Chapter 8
The command shattered the frozen stasis of the room. The heavily armed bodyguards, men loyal only to the reigning Boss, moved with swift, terrifying efficiency. The heavy mahogany doors of the portrait hall slammed shut, the deadbolts engaging with loud, metallic clicks.
Two men hauled Gavin up from the twisted aluminum of the backdrop, ignoring his desperate, bloody coughing. They slammed him face-first against the pristine white wall, pulling his arms violently behind his back to secure them with heavy tactical zip-ties. Another pair of guards converged on Lorraine. The former matriarch thrashed and screamed, her expensive gown tearing as they hauled her up from the scattered photo albums, binding her wrists with equal brutality.
"You can't do this, Roman!" Lorraine wailed, her aristocratic facade completely obliterated. "I am your mother! The Commission will not stand for this! They will strip you of your title!"
"The Commission... answers to me," Roman murmured, not even looking at her. He turned his attention to the terrified photographer, who was still clutching his camera near the wall.
"Adrian," Roman said quietly.
Adrian flinched, his fair skin deathly pale. "Y-Yes, Mr. Valenti?"
"Give me... the memory card," Roman instructed, holding out his heavily tattooed hand.
Adrian’s hands shook so violently he nearly dropped the expensive digital camera. He popped the small compartment open, retrieved the tiny SD card, and placed it reverently into Roman’s palm.
"You have done... a great service... to this family today," Roman said, his voice softening just a fraction, though his eyes remained sharp. "You will be... heavily compensated. Now, gather your equipment... and leave through the service exit. Speak of this to no one."
"Thank you, sir. I won't say a word," Adrian stammered, frantically gathering his unbroken gear and practically sprinting out of the room.
Roman slipped the memory card into the breast pocket of his tailored suit. He looked at the gathered crowd of capos and relatives, who were watching him with absolute, suffocating terror. They had witnessed the violent dismantling of the old guard in less than three minutes.
"If anyone in this room... wishes to object... to how I handle my family," Roman announced, his deep voice carrying to the very back of the hall. "Speak now."
No one moved. No one breathed. The absolute dominance of Roman Valenti was undisputed.
"Take them to the soundproof holding cells beneath the south wing," Roman ordered the guards, gesturing toward his mother and cousin. "No food. No water. No medical attention. They wait in the dark... until I am ready for them."
"Roman, please! I beg you!" Lorraine shrieked as the guards dragged her toward the private elevator. Gavin struggled weakly, his spirit broken, leaving a trail of blood drops on the polished marble.
May you like
Roman watched them disappear behind the heavy steel doors. The bright, cinematic lighting of the room remained unchanged, entirely indifferent to the horrific violence that had just transpired. He took a slow, deep breath, smoothing his suit jacket, and turned to face his most trusted capo.
"Vincent," Roman said softly. "Bring my daughter to me."
