Chapter 7 - The Gathering in Manhattan
The rain had turned into a thick, blinding fog over the East River by seven o'clock the following morning.
In the penthouse boardroom of the Russo Tower on Wall Street, twelve senior captains of the New York crime families sat around a massive mahogany table. At the head of the table sat Marcus Russo—a distinguished sixty-year-old man in a tailored grey suit, holding a crystal glass of sparkling water, smiling warmly as he addressed the room.
“Gentlemen,” Marcus announced, his voice smooth and persuasive. “My nephew Dominic has served our family with great honor. But we must be realistic. Since the tragic passing of his beloved wife, his focus has been fractured. The organization requires steady, experienced leadership to navigate the upcoming federal audits.”
A few captains nodded in agreement, while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“Are you suggesting a vote of confidence, Marcus?” one senior captain from Brooklyn asked cautiously. “Dominic is still the Don. His word is law.”
“A Don who hides in Long Island while his business rots is no Don at all,” Marcus countered smoothly, setting his glass down with a sharp click. “I am simply proposing a temporary transition of authority until Dominic is... capable of resuming his duties.”
Suddenly, the heavy reinforced doors at the back of the boardroom exploded inward!
BOOM!
The double oak doors slammed against the walls, showering the marble entryway in wood splinters.
Standing in the doorway, framed by six heavily armed tactical guards, was Dominic Russo.
He wore a dark charcoal suit, his black coat draped over his shoulders, his eyes burning with an ancient, terrifying rage that made every man in the boardroom freeze in sheer terror.
Marcus’s warm smile vanished instantly, his face draining of all color. “Dominic...”
Dominic walked slowly into the room, his leather boots clicking sharply against the marble floor. The twelve captains stood up instinctively, bowing their heads in deep respect as the true Don of New York entered the room.
“Sit down,” Dominic commanded quietly, without looking at the captains.
All twelve men sat down instantly, not daring to utter a single word.
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Dominic walked directly to the head of the table, stopping right beside Marcus’s chair. He reached out, took Marcus’s crystal glass, and tossed the contents onto the floor before setting the empty glass down with a heavy thud.
“You were talking about my capability, Uncle Marcus,” Dominic said, his voice low and razor-sharp. “Please... continue.”
