Chapter 7 - Traitors in the Council
On the central screen, the broadcast flickered to reveal the Grand Council room at the heart of the Syndicate’s downtown headquarters.
Vincent stood at the head of the long mahogany conference table, looking pristine in an all-white Italian suit, though the manic edge in his pale eyes betrayed his growing desperation. Flanking him were four elderly men—the council elders who had once sworn allegiance to Dominic’s father.
"To all captains and territory heads," Vincent’s voice echoed through the speaker, silky and venomous. "Tonight, Dominic Moretti has proven himself unfit to hold the title of Don. In an act of unprovoked madness, he murdered six men in his own residence and abducted the widow and child of our late, loyal treasurer, David Carter."
Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "He's twisting it. He’s claiming you kidnapped us!"
"He has to," Dominic said calmly, not taking his eyes off the screen. "He needs council legitimacy to call an open contract on my head."
Vincent leaned toward the camera, placing his hands on the polished wood. "The council has unanimously voted to strip Dominic of his rank. A bounty of twenty million dollars is placed on his head, dead or alive. To the man who recovers Evelyn Carter and the pendant she carries, territory rights over the entire North Side docks will be granted."
The council elders nodded in solemn agreement. Among them was Elder Moretti—Dominic’s own great-uncle, Anthony.
"Uncle Anthony sold out," Marco growled, slamming his fist onto the wall. "That snake. Your father took him off the streets!"
"Anthony always preferred gold over blood," Dominic murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet frequency. He walked over to the console, pressing a button that patched his line into the council's direct feed.
"Turn on the audio link, Arthur," Dominic commanded.
"Don Dominic, if you broadcast, they will know you're alive—"
"Do it."
Arthur struck a key. A green audio wave pulsed on the council screen. In the broadcast room downtown, Vincent’s head snapped toward the central intercom speaker as static cleared.
"Enjoying the throne, Vincent?" Dominic’s voice boomed across the Syndicate council chamber, deep, resonant, and dripping with arctic mockery.
Every elder in the room froze. Vincent’s mask of composure slipped for a fraction of a second, his knuckles whitening against the table.
"Dominic," Vincent spat, forcing a cold grin. "You're hiding in the dirt like a rat. Surrender the woman and the ledger, and I might grant you a quick death."
"You forgot one detail, little cousin," Dominic replied smoothly. "David didn't just give Evelyn the key to your bank accounts. He left a complete confession regarding who paid for the car bomb that killed my father four years ago."
A sudden, suffocating silence descended upon the council chamber. Elder Anthony’s face turned paper-white.
"You have six hours until dawn, Vincent," Dominic warned, his tone sending chills down the spine of every listener. "Tell your men to cash their checks tonight. Because by morning, the name Moretti will be restored in blood, and every traitor sitting at that table will answer to me."
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Dominic cut the feed with a single flick of his wrist.
***