Chapter 6 - The Council of the Black Sun
The grand library on the first floor was illuminated by the roaring flames of a massive stone hearth. Outside, the storm had reached its apex, throwing thirty-foot waves against the limestone cliffs.
Around the twenty-foot burled walnut conference table sat nine men. They were the caporegimes of the Chicago Syndicate—men in their fifties and sixties whose tailored suits hid decades of penitentiary ink.
At the head of the table sat Dominic Vale. He wore an unbuttoned black dress shirt, his forearms corded with muscle and mapped with faded knife scars. To his immediate right sat Noah, perched on an oversized leather booster chair, eating slices of cold ham from a silver plate. The boy was calm, his hand resting casually against my knee where I sat beside him.
The double doors of the library swung open with a heavy thud.
Marcus Vale strode into the room. His broken nose was set with white surgical tape, his eyes surrounded by dark purple bruising, but his suit had been changed to an immaculate charcoal pinstripe.
"Apologies for the delay, gentlemen," Marcus announced, his voice carrying an artificial charm. "I had an unfortunate domestic altercation in the north corridor with my brother’s new employee."
The nine captains shifted in their chairs. Sal Moretti, the seventy-year-old capo who controlled the southern rail corridors, spoke up. "You called an emergency plenary session of the council, Marcus. Three hours before dawn during a blizzard. This better not be about municipal garbage contracts."
"It is about the survival of this syndicate," Marcus replied, planting his hands on the walnut table. "For fourteen months, this family has been held hostage by the madness of a child. Noah is four years old. He has attacked eighteen private employees. And our sovereign has allowed his grief over Julianna to paralyze his command."
Marcus opened a leather portfolio, revealing nine certified affidavits. "Under Article Nine of our syndicate charter, if a sitting sovereign displays acute psychological incapacity, the council holds the statutory duty to transfer executive authority to the designated underboss."
A heavy silence descended over the library. Sal Moretti looked at the documents, then up at Dominic. "Dominic? What do you have to say to this?"
Dominic did not look at the papers. He slowly reached out, picked up a small porcelain teacup from his side of the table, and set it down in front of Marcus with a sharp, echoing clink.
"Drink the tea, Marcus," Dominic said softly.
Marcus froze. "What?"
"Drink the tea," Dominic repeated. "Earl Grey. Prepared by your private maid, Elena, forty minutes ago in the service pantry. She told Viktor that you gave her a five-thousand-dollar bonus this morning to ensure I consumed it before the council gathered."
The nine capos straightened up in their seats. Sal Moretti’s hand dropped casually beneath the edge of the table.
"This is ridiculous," Marcus stammered, attempting a dismissive laugh. "You're hallucinating, Dominic!"
"Noah," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping into a gentle, terrifying register. "Tell your uncle what the tea smells like."
Noah set down his piece of ham. The four-year-old boy stood up on his leather booster chair, looking directly into his uncle’s sweating, panicked face.
"Bitter nuts," Noah said, his voice ringing through the silent library. "Smells like the medicine you gave Mother before the car went boom."
The room went completely airless. Marcus reached for his waistband. He never cleared the leather.
Dominic moved with blinding speed. He surged across the table, his massive left hand clamping around Marcus’s throat, slamming the underboss’s head down onto the polished walnut with a bone-jarring CRACK.
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The nine capos bolted from their chairs, weapons drawn, but every single barrel was pointed directly at Marcus Vale’s skull.
Dominic leaned down, his face inches from his brother’s bleeding cheek. "You took my wife, Marcus," Dominic whispered into the silence. "You stole my brother's honor. And you thought I wouldn't hear my sister crying in the north wall?"
