Chapter 13
I assembled the senior capos before dawn.
No birthday music.
No children.
No decorations.
Just the people Diane had spent years believing still belonged to her.
I told them about Rose Gate.
Daniel.
Elias.
Vale.
Michael.
Then Connor’s recordings played.
Diane interrupted twice.
“These were private conversations.”
One capo stared at her.
“About kidnapping the boss.”
“I never said kidnap.”
Another answered:
“You hid a beacon in her child’s gift.”
Diane smiled coldly.
“It was strategy.”
A third man looked disgusted.
“She’s three.”
Diane shrugged.
“And?”
There it was again.
Every time she said it, another old loyalist stopped seeing the woman he remembered.
I placed the Vale beacon on the table.
Then the list of compromised men.
Henry’s confession followed.
Nobody shouted.
Mafia rooms become quiet when power changes.
Diane looked around.
“You think Natalie is strong?”
No one answered.
“She is standing because I made her.”
I said nothing.
Mother pointed at me.
“I taught her how to command.”
One capo replied:
“You also tried to have her taken.”
“I tried to correct her.”
The man almost laughed.
Diane continued:
“She stopped a family celebration because Grace got a bad haircut.”
I stared at her.
Even now.
Terror reduced to hair.
“She was held down.”
“She resisted.”
“She was interrogated.”
“She refused.”
“She was starved.”
“She missed breakfast.”
Every cruelty had a smaller name when Diane committed it.
Sabrina finally spoke.
“Stop.”
Mother turned.
“What?”
“Every sentence makes it worse.”
Diane smiled cruelly.
“You’re crying again.”
Sabrina flinched.
Mother continued.
“Perhaps tears will undo what you did to those children.”
That was Diane.
Even while her daughter confessed becoming monstrous under her influence, Diane needed one final cut.
Sabrina looked at Connor through the window.
“No.”
“What?”
“They won’t undo anything.”
Then she looked at Diane.
“But I can stop becoming you.”
Mother slapped her.
My guards caught Diane immediately.
She stared at me.
“Now what?”
I stepped closer.
May you like
“Now you lose every command privilege you have left.”
For the first time in decades, Diane Whitfield looked like a woman without an audience.
