Chapter 3 - Family Business
The private library on the upper floor of the Lincoln Park estate smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and polished mahogany.
Julian Romano sat bound to a heavy wooden chair in the center of the Persian rug, two of Gabriele’s enforcers standing silently behind him like marble statues. Julian’s expensive silk tie was askew, and a nasty split lip marked his jaw from the brief, violent greeting he had received upon being brought in from his Gold Coast penthouse.
The double doors opened, and Gabriele walked in.
He didn't run. He didn't shout. He walked with the measured, terrifying grace of a predator that had already calculated every possible escape route and found them all wanting.
"Julian," Gabriele said mildly, stopping five feet away. He pulled out a leather cigar cutter from his vest pocket, though he didn't light a cigar. "You look uncomfortable."
"Gabriele, this is insane!" Julian stammered, straining against the heavy nylon zip-ties biting into his wrists. "You're tying up your own blood over some corporate rumor? What, because some auditor got caught in a shootout down by the river?"
"Some auditor," Gabriele repeated, his voice dangerously low. He stepped closer, sliding the metal cutter back into his pocket. "That auditor is Federica Ferrari. And she is currently resting upstairs with my son because your friends in Victor Sterling’s crew tried to execute her after you sold her route to them."
Julian’s face drained of color. He swallowed hard, shifting his eyes toward Marco. "You can't prove that. It's circumstantial—"
"I don't need a jury, Julian," Gabriele interrupted, his tone flat and absolute. "We are Romano men. We don't sell out our own operations to a South Side crack-dealing thug like Sterling just to secure a seat on the board of directors."
"Matteo is dead!" Julian suddenly snapped, his voice cracking with desperate hysteria. "Your brother is in the ground! And you're running the whole syndicate like a tyrannical dictator, handing out promotions to book-pushers while I'm stuck managing scraps! Sterling promised me the shipping lanes if I handed over the kid so you'd be forced to step down and negotiate!"
The silence in the library was absolute. Even the grandfather clock ticking in the corner seemed to hold its breath.
Gabriele didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He simply reached out, grabbed Julian by the collar of his shirt, and hauled him upright, chair and all, until their faces were inches apart.
"Matteo died because he trusted family," Gabriele whispered, his breath hot and venomous against Julian’s ear. "And you tried to finish the job by putting my nephew in a grave."
May you like
Gabriele let go abruptly, letting the chair slam back onto the floor with a heavy thud. He turned to Marco.
"Strip him of every asset. Empty his accounts, revoke his shares in Romano Holdings, and put him on a private cargo flight to our South American holdings tonight. If he ever sets foot in Illinois again, feed him to the lake."
