Chapter 8 - THE COURTHOUSE STANDOFF
At 7:45 AM, rain continued to lash against the grand granite steps of the Suffolk County Courthouse in downtown Boston.
A dozen news vans were parked along the perimeter, their satellite dishes raised, reporters standing under umbrellas as rumors of Arthur Vance’s death and the impending probate battle flooded the morning news cycle.
At 7:55 AM, four dark sedans pulled up to the curb.
Don Marco Falcone stepped out of the lead vehicle. He was a broad, heavy-set man in his late fifties, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat, flanked by four lawyers and six armed guards. He carried himself with the smug, arrogant aura of a man who believed the city was already in his pocket.
"Clear the steps," Falcone’s lead lawyer ordered the court security officers. "We have an emergency ex-parte hearing with Judge Miller."
Before Falcone could take three steps up the granite stairs, a heavy armored Maybach slammed to a halt directly in front of the court entrance, blocking his path.
The rear doors swung open.
Matteo Conti stepped out first, unbuttoning his suit jacket to reveal the silver crest of the Conti family pinned to his lapel.
Behind him stepped out me.
I wore the charcoal wool suit, the teardrop sapphire sparkling against my throat, my head held high, my gaze locked onto the man who had ordered my execution five hours ago.
The reporters gasped, cameras flashing wildly as the crowd recognized the mysterious woman standing beside Boston’s most powerful mob boss.
Don Marco Falcone froze on the steps, his face twisting into an expression of pure, unadulterated shock and rage.
"Matteo..." Falcone growled, his hand twitching toward his coat before his guards restrained him in front of the flashing cameras. "What is the meaning of this circus?"
Matteo walked slowly up the steps, holding my hand firmly in his, stopping two steps above Falcone so we looked down on him.
"You’re looking at the sole legal heir to the Vance estate, Marco," Matteo announced, his voice carrying clearly over the rain and the clicking cameras. "Miss Sophie Vance-Bennett."
Falcone let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "She’s a nobody! A bartender from Allston! The transfer deeds to the docks were signed by Arthur Vance two days ago in favor of my holding company!"
"Your transfer deeds are cheap forgeries executed by a corrupt clerk in Zurich, Falcone," I spoke up, my voice steady, loud, and filled with a fierce authority that surprised even myself. "And if you want to debate my DNA, my father’s estate attorneys are waiting inside with the certified Swiss records."
Falcone stared at me, his small eyes burning with pure hatred as he realized his entire multi-million-dollar scheme had just collapsed on the steps of the courthouse in front of the entire Boston press corps.
"You think you’ve won, little girl?" Falcone sneered in a deadly whisper. "You won't survive a week running those docks."
May you like
Matteo stepped forward, his massive frame completely blocking Falcone’s view of me, his voice dropping into a freezing, lethal threat.
"She won't have to run them alone, Marco," Matteo growled softly. "Because as of five minutes ago, the Conti family and the Vance estate have formed a permanent alliance. Touch her, and I will erase your entire bloodline from this city."
