Chapter 19 - The Syndicate's Ultimatum
Peace in the underworld, however, is a fragile glass ornament.
Just as the sun was setting over the snow-covered Hudson, a convoy of four armored Maybachs pulled through the estate’s main gates, escorted by private security.
Ricardo’s jaw tightened. The easy, playful husband-to-be vanished, replaced once more by the calculating Don.
"Who is that?" I asked, wiping my hands on an apron, immediately pulling Leo off the stool and sending him to the family room with Mrs. Greco, who had transformed from a cold housekeeper into a fiercely protective grandmother figure.
"The Chicago Outfit," Ricardo said, his voice flat. "Don Salvatore Lucchese. Vincent’s real employer."
We met them in the grand reception room.
Don Salvatore was a mammoth of a man, seventy years old, with eyes as dead as a winter grave. He leaned on a gold-headed cane, surrounded by four massive bodyguards whose hands never strayed far from their coats.
"Ricardo," Lucchese rumbled, his voice like gravel grinding under a boot. "You cleaned house. Very impressive. Antonio Rossi was a fool, and Vincent was getting sloppy."
"If you came to pay your respects, Salvatore, send flowers next time," Ricardo said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me in front of the marble fireplace.
"I didn't come to pay respects," Lucchese said, his gaze turning to me, cold and assessing. "I came to deliver the National Commission’s final terms. The Rossi family is gone. That leaves a massive power vacuum in the East Coast narcotics and port corridors."
"The Moretti family controls those ports," Ricardo countered.
"The Moretti family cannot control them without a blood alliance," Lucchese snapped, striking his cane against the floor. "The Commission will not allow one man to hold New York without a dynastic tie. My granddaughter, Isabella, is twenty-four. She is ready for marriage."
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"I am already engaged," Ricardo said, his hand reaching out to interlock his fingers firmly with mine.
Lucchese let out a dry, rattling laugh. "To a waitress? A commoner with no bloodline, no dowry, and no soldiers? Don't be ridiculous, Ricardo. This is business. You marry Isabella by the spring, or the Midwest and Southern syndicates will blockade your shipping lanes. You will be choked out of your own city."
Lucchese took a step closer, pointing a crooked finger at me.
May you like
"Send this girl back to whatever gutter you found her in. Give her a million dollars to disappear. If you don't, I will personally ensure she and your little bastard son become casualties of a trade war."
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