Chapter 13 - The Commission's Banquet
Seventy-two hours after Costa’s execution, the grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel on Fifth Avenue was an arena of absolute power, wealth, and razor-sharp tension.
The annual Winter Gala of the Five Families was not a social gathering; it was a summit where territories were confirmed, debts were collected, and loyalty was pledged under the watchful eyes of three hundred armed capos and high-ranking lieutenants.
At 8:00 PM, the heavy mahogany double doors of the ballroom swung open.
The room fell into an immediate, suffocating hush.
Dominic Rossi walked through the threshold, wearing a custom-tailored midnight tuxedo with black silk lapels, his silver signet ring gleaming under the crystal chandeliers. Flanking him were Enzo and ten heavily armed Rossi enforcers.
On Dominic’s arm was Clara.
She took the room’s breath away.
She wore an exquisite emerald-green silk velvet gown with a sweeping train, custom-designed to accentuate her natural elegance. Around her delicate throat rested the Rossi heirloom diamond necklace—a breathtaking cascade of flawless stones that had belonged to Dominic’s grandmother. Her hair was swept up in an intricate chignon, her chin held high, radiating a quiet, unshakeable dignity.
Whispers rippled through the assembled mob bosses.
“Is that the waitress?”
“Look at the necklace… that’s the matriarch’s jewels.”
“Costa called her a nobody… and now he’s at the bottom of the East River.”
Dominic guided Clara to the head table on the raised dais—the seat that had belonged to the Costa family for thirty years.
Don Carmine, the eighty-year-old elder statesman of the Commission, slowly rose from his seat at table one. He walked across the marble floor, leaning on his silver-tipped cane, stopping directly before Clara.
The ballroom went dead silent.
Carmine looked at Clara’s eyes, saw no fear, no hesitation, only the steady resolve of a woman who had walked through the fire and refused to burn.
Slowly, Don Carmine bowed his head, took Clara’s gloved hand, and pressed his lips against her silver ring.
“Welcome to the table, Donna Clara,” Carmine’s aged voice echoed through the ballroom. “The Five Families honor the woman who guards the Rossi name.”
May you like
One by one, thirty capos and syndicate leaders rose from their tables, raising their crystal champagne flutes in a silent, unanimous pledge of absolute submission.
Dominic stood beside her, his arm wrapping possessively around her waist, his eyes scanning the room with the lethal dominance of an emperor who had secured his crown.
