Chapter 7 - The Gathering of Vultures
The Grand Plaza Hotel ballroom in Midtown Manhattan was a sea of crystal chandeliers, velvet draperies, and armed men in tailored tuxedos.
Over two hundred high-ranking members of the Eastern Seaboard crime syndicates were present. The Five Families had assembled for what was billed as a historical transition of power.
At the head of the massive mahogany conference table sat Marco Castellano.
He was a man in his late fifties, silver-haired, impeccably groomed, wearing a ten-thousand-dollar suit and a gold signet ring. He held a glass of champagne, offering sad, practiced nods to various lieutenants who came up to offer their fake condolences.
"A tragedy," Marco said, dabbing at his eyes with a silk handkerchief. "A profound, terrible tragedy. To lose all four of his beautiful children to such a horrific genetic disease... my poor nephew Roman is utterly broken. He cannot carry the burden of the Don position any longer."
"Has Roman formally signed the power transfer documents, Marco?" asked Don Moretti, the head of the rival syndicate sitting across the table.
"He will sign them tonight," Marco claimed smoothly, sipping his champagne. "He is currently at the estate, weeping over their beds. I have taken the liberty of drafting the transition terms to ensure our business with New York remains undisturbed."
Marco raised his glass high, looking around the room at the gathered bosses. "To the future of the Castellano family. May we rebuild from the ash—"
BANG!
The massive double mahogany doors of the ballroom were blown violently inward by a breaching charge, shattering the brass locks and sending a wave of dust and splintered wood flying across the marble entrance.
Screams erupted through the room. Over fifty bodyguards drew their weapons instantly, pointing them toward the smoke-filled doorway.
Through the haze stepped Roman Castellano.
He was dressed in an immaculate black tuxedo, his hair combed back, his posture tall and commanding, radiating a terrifying, physical presence that paralyzed the room. Beside him walked Val, holding a heavy tactical shotgun, followed by thirty heavily armed Castellano enforcers who flooded the perimeter, locking down every exit.
Marco dropped his champagne glass. The crystal shattered on the floor, golden liquid splashing over his polished shoes. His face turned the color of chalk.
"Roman...?" Marco stammered, his voice cracking with absolute shock. "What... what is the meaning of this? You... you are supposed to be at the estate!"
Roman walked slowly down the center aisle, his heavy leather shoes echoing off the marble floor. He didn't look at the drawn guns of the other families. He looked only at his uncle.
"I was at the estate, Marco," Roman said, his voice carrying a calm, lethal weight that echoed through the vast ballroom. "I was putting my children to bed."
A collective murmur gasped through the crowd of mob bosses.
"Your... your children?" Don Moretti asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Marco told us they were dying! He said organ failure was imminent!"
Roman reached the head of the table. He stood directly opposite his uncle, leaning forward, resting his hands on the mahogany surface, looking into Marco's terrified eyes.
"My children are not dying, Moretti," Roman announced, his voice reaching every corner of the room. "They are at home, eating dinner, playing games, and getting their strength back."
Marco trembled violently, backing away against his chair. "That's... that's impossible... the disease..."
"It wasn't a disease, Marco," Roman growled, his dark eyes flaring with liquid fire. "It was thallium. Three years of thallium poison, administered by Dr. Aris under your direct orders."
The room erupted into total chaos.
Mob bosses stood up from their chairs, shouting in outrage. In the Italian underworld, turf wars and assassination of rivals were accepted risks of the business, but the deliberate, prolonged poisoning of innocent children—especially by their own blood—was a violation of the sacred oath that carried an automatic death penalty across every family.
"He's lying!" Marco shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Roman. "He's lost his mind from grief! He's making up wild accusations to keep power! Shoot him!"
None of Marco's guards moved. They looked at Roman, then at Marco, terrified of being caught on the wrong side of a bloody execution.
Roman raised his hand. "Val. Bring in the evidence."
The heavy doors opened again. Two enforcers wheeled a steel cart into the center of the ballroom. Sitting on the cart, bound in chains, his face bruised, his hand bandaged, was Dr. Aris. Beside him was a laptop playing a recorded video confession, complete with offshore bank transfer receipts showing Marco's payments to Aris's Swiss accounts over the past three years.
Dr. Aris looked at the crowd of mob bosses, his voice weeping through the speakers: "Marco paid me... fifty thousand dollars a month... to keep the Castellano quadruplets paralyzed... he wanted Roman to surrender his throne..."
The silence that fell over the ballroom was absolute, heavy, and terrifying.
Don Moretti stood up slowly, looking at Marco with disgust. He re-holstered his weapon and stepped away from the table. "This is a family matter. The Commission will not interfere."
Every other syndicate boss stepped back, leaving Marco completely isolated at the head of the table.
Marco looked around the room, realizing with horrifying finality that his empire of lies had collapsed into dust. He scrambled for a hidden pistol inside his jacket.
THUD.
Roman moved faster than thought. He grabbed a silver steak knife from the table and drove it cleanly through Marco's right hand, pinning it to the mahogany table.
Marco screamed in agony, thrashing, trapped.
Roman leaned down, pressing his face inches from his traitorous uncle's ear.
"You took three years of light from my children, Marco," Roman whispered, his voice a promise of eternal darkness. "You made them suffer in the dark. Now, you are going to spend the rest of your short life learning what real darkness feels like."
Roman nodded to Val. "Take him to the basement. Do not let him die until he has begged for every second my children spent in those beds."
May you like
As the guards dragged the screaming traitor out of the ballroom, Roman turned to the remaining bosses of the Five Families. He straightened his tie, his expression unshakeable, his authority over the city absolute and unchallenged.
"The Castellano family is under my firm control," Roman declared coldly. "If anyone ever threatens my blood again, I will burn this city to the ground. Good night, gentlemen."
