Chapter 3 - The Captains’ Dinner
By seven o'clock the following evening, the grand dining room of the Russo estate was illuminated by two massive crystal chandeliers.
The long mahogany table was set with fine bone china, silver cutlery, and crystal wine glasses.
Twelve men sat around the table—the senior captains of the Russo family. They were broad-shouldered, sharp-suited, and carrying the weathered, dangerous expressions of men who had spent decades surviving in the city’s underground.
Dominic sat at the head of the table in a bespoke charcoal suit.
At the opposite end sat Rosa, wearing a deep navy silk dress.
To Dominic’s right sat Sadi.
She wore a high-collared, floor-length emerald green dress tailored specifically to conceal her heavy torso bandages and support her collarbone. Her dark hair was styled into an elegant chignon, and the massive diamond ring on her finger caught the chandelier light with every movement.
The atmosphere in the room was tense, thick with smoke from expensive cigars and the heavy scent of aged red wine.
A captain named Frankie “The Hammer” Vane—a large man with a scar running from his ear to his jawline—set his wine glass down with a loud thud.
“With all due respect, Boss,” Frankie spoke up, his rough voice cutting through the quiet hum of dinner chatter. “We’re all glad your mother is breathing. We are. But marrying a civilian? A waitress from a diner in the North End? The Morettis are laughing at us. They think you lost your mind after the hit.”
The table went instantly silent.
Dominic did not reach for his glass. He did not raise his voice. He simply set his silver fork down on his plate, the soft metal click sounding like a gunshot in the quiet room.
“Is that what you think, Frankie?” Dominic asked softly.
Frankie shifted slightly in his chair, sensing the lethal change in room pressure, but held his ground. “I’m saying it looks like a reaction, Boss. Not a strategy. We should be burning the Moretti warehouses down right now, not sitting here having a wedding feast.”
Before Dominic could respond, Sadi set her napkin beside her plate and looked directly across the table at Frankie.
“Mr. Vane,” Sadi said, her voice smooth, steady, and clear.
Frankie blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah?”
“When those three men walked into Sal’s Diner on Tuesday,” Sadi said, her green eyes locked onto his, “they didn't wear masks. Do you know why?”
Frankie narrowed his eyes. “Because they planned to kill everyone inside.”
“Precisely,” Sadi nodded. “They came to execute a sixty-eight-year-old woman and two innocent bystanders to prove a point. They weren't soldiers, Mr. Vane. They were cowards acting on Matteo Moretti’s orders.”
She leaned forward slightly, ignoring the sharp sting in her ribs.
“If Dominic had simply launched a blind retaliatory strike on their warehouses, it would have given the Morettis exactly what they wanted—a messy, public gang war that would bring the federal prosecutors down on every business you own,” Sadi continued, her tone calm and analytical. “By marrying me, Dominic turned a cheap hit into a permanent diplomatic brick wall. He protected his mother, protected a key witness, and left Matteo Moretti standing in front of his board with zero leverage and a dead contract.”
She offered Frankie a small, cold smile.
“So unless you have an eighty-million-dollar legal defense fund ready for when the FBI steps in, I suggest you finish your pasta and let my husband run his city.”
The entire dining room remained frozen in absolute shock.
Dominic slowly turned his head to look at Sadi, a slow, dangerous, utterly fascinated smile spreading across his face.
Frankie stared at Sadi for five long seconds before a raspy chuckle broke from his chest. He raised his wine glass high in her direction.
“To the new Mrs. Russo,” Frankie announced loudly. “She’s got more balls than half the guys in my crew.”
The captains raised their glasses, shouting their approval, the tension in the room evaporating into loud chatter and clinking crystal.
Underneath the table, out of sight of the captains, Dominic reached out and found Sadi’s hand.
His large, warm fingers wrapped tightly around hers, squeezing her bruised knuckles with a quiet, intense pride that made her heart leap into her throat.
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“Well done, little waitress,” Dominic whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck.
Sadi squeezed his hand back, realizing with a strange, terrifying certainty that she was falling in love with her husband.
