Chapter 6 - The Execution on the Marble
At ten o'clock sharp, the heavy oak doors of the West Wing were pushed open.
Victor Russo walked in, wearing an expensive grey suit, a victorious smirk plastered across his face. Beside him walked Elder Moretti and Elder Romano—two stern, silver-haired men in dark coats who represented the old guard of the New York syndicate.
Behind them came Mrs. Gable, carrying a silver tray with a steaming porcelain teapot and two cups.
Graham stood near the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, looking completely composed. Beatrice stood beside Isabella’s bed, adjusting the pillows as the elderly woman sat upright, wrapped in a plush velvet robe.
"Graham," Victor announced loudly, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "The elders are here for the official evaluation. Dr. Thorne is waiting downstairs to sign the medical transfer papers."
Elder Moretti stepped forward, looking at Isabella with a mixture of pity and regret. "Graham... if your mother is unfit, syndicate law requires her shares to be placed in trust under board supervision. We cannot allow thirty percent of our shipping capital to sit idle."
"She is right here, Moretti," Graham said calmly. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"
Victor chuckled mockingly. "Oh, come on, Graham! Stop the theater. She doesn't even know what room she’s in. Mrs. Gable, give her the tea so she calms down enough for us to finish the paperwork."
Mrs. Gable stepped forward, her hands shaking slightly as she lifted the porcelain cup from the tray. She approached the bed, offering the cup to Isabella with a tight, practiced smile.
"Here is your morning tea, Mrs. Russo," Gable said softly. "It will help your poor head."
Isabella looked at the cup. Then she looked up into Mrs. Gable’s eyes.
"Tell me, Gable," Isabella spoke, her voice clear, loud, and carrying the authority of a queen. "Does twenty thousand dollars a month from my nephew buy your soul, or do you sell it at a discount?"
The room went dead silent.
Mrs. Gable froze. The porcelain cup slipped from her fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor, spilling the dark, copper-scented tea across the rug.
Victor’s smirk vanished instantly. His face went deathly pale. "What... what did she say?"
Elder Moretti’s eyes widened in sheer astonishment. "Isabella... you... you recognize us?"
"Of course I recognize you, Moretti," Isabella said smoothly, leaning back against her pillows. "You were at my wedding in 1984. You drank too much barolo and fell into the pool. And you, Romano—you still owe my late husband fifty thousand dollars from a poker game in Atlantic City."
Elder Romano gasped, taking a step back. "She’s... she’s completely coherent!"
Victor stammered, stepping forward frantically. "No! This is a trick! She’s having a temporary lucid spike! She’s been insane for six months! Ask Gable! Ask Dr. Thorne!"
"Dr. Thorne won't be answering any questions," Graham’s deep voice sliced through the room.
The side door to the suite opened. Marcus walked in, dragging a bound and gagged Dr. Thorne, dropping the trembling physician onto his knees before the elders.
Graham walked over to Mrs. Gable. The head housekeeper was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes wide with terror.
Graham pulled a thick folder from his coat and tossed it onto the bed in front of Elder Moretti.
"Bank records," Graham said coldly. "Wire transfers from Victor’s shell company in Brooklyn directly to Mrs. Gable and Dr. Thorne. For two years, they have been poisoning my mother with synthetic neurotoxins to fake dementia so Victor could steal her voting seat on the board."
Elder Moretti quickly flipped through the documents. His face darkened into a terrifying mask of ancient, mafia rage. He looked up at Victor.
"You poisoned the matriarch of the family?" Moretti whispered, his voice shaking with fury. "You broke the sacred blood covenant?"
"It’s a lie!" Victor shrieked, backing toward the door. "He forged those papers! He’s trying to frame me!"
Victor reached into his jacket for his firearm, but Graham was already there.
Graham grabbed Victor’s arm, twisting it backward until a sickening SNAP echoed through the room. Victor screamed in agony as his gun clattered to the floor.
Graham didn't stop. He dragged his screaming cousin by his collar, tossing him onto his knees beside Dr. Thorne and Mrs. Gable.
"Moretti," Graham said, looking at the syndicate elder. "What is the penalty for poisoning a family boss?"
Elder Moretti looked at Isabella, then at Graham. "Death. By fire."
"Marcus," Graham ordered without turning his head. "Take all three of them down to the boathouse. Make sure the fire burns hot enough to consume the evidence."
"No! Graham, please! We’re blood! We’re family!" Victor sobbed on the floor, clutching his broken arm as Marcus and two heavy guards dragged him, Gable, and Thorne out of the room. Their hysterical screams faded down the long, carpeted corridors of the West Wing.
Silence returned to the room.
Elder Moretti and Elder Romano bowed their heads deeply before Isabella.
"Forgive us, Isabella," Moretti said, his voice filled with genuine shame. "We were blind. We almost let a traitor destroy this house."
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"You were foolish, Moretti," Isabella said sternly. "Now get out of my room. My caretaker needs to prepare my afternoon meal."
The two elders quickly bowed again and hurried out, leaving Graham, Isabella, and Beatrice alone in the quiet suite.
