Chapter 4 - THE FIVE FAMILIES AT WAR
The grand dining hall of the Romano Mansion was a masterpiece of old-world Italian extravagance.
A forty-foot table carved from solid black walnut sat under three massive crystal chandeliers. High stained-glass windows depicted ancient Roman battles, casting deep crimson and gold shadows across the polished marble floor.
Seated at the long table were twelve men—the most dangerous crime bosses in the northeastern United States.
At the far end sat Don Carmine Falcone, an eighty-year-old mob veteran with a withered face and eyes like a venomous snake, flanked by four heavily armed bodyguards. Beside him sat Don Joseph Casserly, a ruthless, younger boss who controlled the illegal gambling circuits of Brooklyn.
In the center of the room, tied securely to a heavy oak chair with iron chains, sat Dominic Moretti. His face was swollen, his nose broken, and blood dripped from his torn designer shirt onto the white marble floor.
Alessandro Romano sat at the head of the table, sipping an amber glass of forty-year-old scotch. He looked completely relaxed, as if he were hosting a casual Sunday dinner rather than a tribunal of assassins.
"This is an outrage, Alessandro!" Don Falcone barked, slamming his gnarled, diamond-ringed fist on the mahogany table. "You chain your own underboss like a dog in front of the commission? Moretti has served the Romano family for twenty years!"
"Moretti paid three hitmen fifty thousand dollars to murder a civilian on my estate grounds two hours ago, Carmine," Alessandro said smoothly, setting his scotch glass down with a soft click. "And he disabled the perimeter security grid to allow them access."
"He says he was trying to secure the estate from Morello intruders!" Don Casserly interjected aggressively. "You’re taking the word of a common servant girl over your second-in-command! You’ve lost your mind, Romano! Ever since your son was crippled, you’ve been soft!"
The room went ice cold.
Two of Alessandro’s guards near the doors placed their hands on their holstered weapons, but Alessandro simply raised one finger, stopping them instantly.
"Say that word again, Casserly," Alessandro whispered, his voice so quiet it sent a shudder through the elderly Falcone. "Say what my son is."
Before Casserly could answer, the grand double doors of the dining hall clicked open.
Every boss in the room turned their head.
Lily Brooks walked into the grand dining hall.
She did not wear a delicate silk gown or high heels. She wore a stunning, emerald-green velvet dress that clung gloriously to her plush, voluptuous curves, accentuating her narrow waist and full hips. Her dark golden hair was pinned up in a loose, elegant knot, with soft tendrils framing her soft face. On her feet were simple, polished black leather boots.
Beside her, holding her hand tightly, walked eight-year-old Ethan.
The entire room gasped.
Ethan wasn't in his carbon-fiber wheelchair.
He was walking.
His movements were stiff, unsteady, and his small legs trembled under the heavy weight of his silver knee braces, but he was taking active, deliberate steps forward—his little shoes clicking against the marble floor as Lily supported his shoulder with gentle, absolute strength.
"Father," Ethan’s clear, young voice echoed through the silent hall. "I brought Lily down to see you."
Alessandro stood up slowly from his seat. The terrifying, cold mob boss looked at his son standing on two feet, then looked at the glowing, curvaceous woman holding him up, and felt a lump rise in his throat that nearly choked him.
The other crime bosses sat frozen in absolute, speechless shock.
"He... he’s standing," Don Falcone stammered, his snake-like eyes wide with disbelief. "The boy is walking..."
Lily stopped three feet from the head of the table, helping Ethan sit down gently in a grand leather armchair beside his father. Then she stood tall, her hazel eyes scanning the room of dangerous men without a single flicker of fear.
"My son is not broken, Casserly," Alessandro declared, his voice booming through the grand hall like thunder. He walked over to Lily, stepping right beside her, placing his massive hand firmly over hers. "And the woman who restored his strength is not a 'common servant.'"
Alessandro turned his dark, murderous gaze onto Dominic Moretti, who was cowering in his iron chains.
"Dominic," Alessandro said softly.
"Alessandro... please!" Moretti wept, blood and saliva leaking from his mouth. "I was wrong! Falcone promised me your territory if I got rid of the kid and the girl! They set me up!"
Don Falcone jumped up from his chair, his face turning purple. "He’s lying! Shoot the traitorous dog!"
BANG!
A single gunshot shattered the air.
Alessandro didn't even look at Moretti as he drew his silver Beretta and put a heavy bullet through the traitor’s forehead. Moretti’s head snapped back, his body going limp against the iron chains as total, terrifying silence filled the room once more.
Alessandro slowly lowered the gun, blowing a thin wispy cloud of blue smoke from the barrel, then pointed the weapon directly at Don Falcone’s chest.
"You have five minutes to get off my property, Carmine," Alessandro said, his tone flat and absolute. "If I see your cars on the Long Island Expressway after midnight... I will burn your families out of Brooklyn."
Don Falcone and Don Casserly didn't say another word. They backed away from the mahogany table, their bodyguards pale and sweating, and fled through the double doors as fast as their legs could carry them.
As the heavy doors slammed shut behind the fleeing commission members, Alessandro turned to face Lily.
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He didn't care about the dead traitor in the chair. He didn't care about the war he had just declared on the five families.
He looked down at the soft, beautiful, plus-sized woman who had brought light back into his dark empire, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her deeply in front of his son and all his remaining men.
