Chapter 9 - The Ultimatum
The syndicate's higher council—a coalition of five older family bosses who oversaw the Midwest territory—did not approve of Dakota Gallagher.
On Tuesday evening, while Gabriel was away in Detroit handling a territory dispute, three black sedans arrived at the Lake Forest estate. Don Vincenzo, the eldest member of the council, entered the library accompanied by four armed guards.
Dakota remained seated at her desk, calmly finishing her cup of tea.
"Miss Gallagher," Vincenzo said, his voice dry as dust. He was a man in his seventies, dressed in an old-fashioned wool coat, his eyes filled with ancient prejudice. "I will be brief. Gabriel has lost his mind over you. He is ignoring council meetings, he is restructuring accounts without our approval, and he has placed a civilian woman in control of our financial core."
"I am a forensic accountant, Don Vincenzo," Dakota said coolly. "Not a civilian. And my systems have saved this syndicate six million dollars in the last three weeks."
"I don't care about your numbers," Vincenzo sneered, taking a step toward her desk. "You are an eyesore, a distraction, and a liability. Gabriel needs a wife from a family of standing—not a fat, common girl from Pilsen who thinks she’s clever."
He dropped a heavy leather envelope onto her desk.
"There is two million dollars in bearer bonds in that envelope," Vincenzo said. "Take your mother, leave Chicago tonight, and never contact Gabriel again. If you refuse, your mother’s medical team will be withdrawn by midnight, and you will both be found in the river."
Dakota looked at the envelope. She felt the old, familiar sting of society’s hatred—the assumption that because of her size, she was weak, easily bought, and easily broken.
Slowly, Dakota stood up.
She picked up the envelope, walked over to the marble fireplace on the west wall, and tossed the two million dollars directly into the burning logs.
Vincenzo gasped, his guards instantly reaching for their holsters.
"My mother’s care is non-negotiable," Dakota said, her voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute steel. "And if you touch a single hair on her head, Don Vincenzo, I will release your private offshore tax records to the Federal Organized Crime Task Force in three minutes. I have an automated dead-man's switch on my server. Try me."
Vincenzo stared at her, his face turning pale as he realized the depth of the trap he had walked into.
Before he could speak, the double doors of the library were kicked open with violent force.
May you like
Gabriel stood in the doorway, his coat wet with rain, his face twisted in a murderous fury that turned the room to ice. He carried a heavy iron crowbar in his right hand.
"Vincenzo," Gabriel’s voice echoed like thunder. "Get your filthy hands off my woman's desk."
