Chapter 7 - The Commission’s Judgment
Three days later, the oak-paneled chambers of the city's underground governing council—known simply as the Commission—were packed to capacity.
Seated at the long mahogany table were the heads of the remaining crime families, alongside Salvador Moretti, whose arm was still in a sling. At the head of the table sat Vincent Torino, flanked by Marco and two armed enforcers.
In the center of the room, tied securely to a wooden chair with heavy rope, sat Dante Vance. His face was a map of bruises, his eyes swollen shut on one side.
"The charges have been read," the oldest member of the Commission, Don Alberto, rasped into the silence. "Attempted murder of an innocent civilian, conspiracy to start a civil war between families, and treason against the syndicate. Dante Vance, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Dante lifted his head, spitting a clot of blood onto the floor. "You're all hypocrites," he spat. "Torino is getting soft! He’s wasting his time playing house with some woman and a kid! I was just doing what this city needed—clearing out the dead weight!"
Vincent didn't raise his voice. He didn't even stand up. He simply looked at Don Alberto and nodded once.
"The verdict is unanimous," Don Alberto declared, banging his heavy signet ring against the table. "Dante Vance, your name is stricken from the records of this city. Your assets are seized. And your sentence is final."
Before Dante could scream, two enforcers stepped forward, placing a heavy burlap hood over his head and dragging him out of the room toward the docks below.
Salvador Moretti cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and looked across the table at Vincent.
"Vinnie," Salvador began cautiously. "About... what happened. I want you to know the Moretti family had no part in—"
"I know," Vincent interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a razor. "Dante acted alone. The matter is closed. But let this be a lesson to everyone sitting at this table: my business is my business. My family—" Vincent paused, tasting the word on his tongue for the first time with real meaning, "—is off limits. Anyone who forgets that will share Dante’s fate before the sun sets."
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Not a single man at the table dared to meet his eye. They all nodded in unison.
The war was over before it even began. And the throne Vincent sat on was stronger, and more terrifyingly absolute, than it had ever been.
