Chapter 6
Vittorio’s father had used closed votes twice.
Both times during internal crises.
Never for succession.
Never while the boss was still alive.
That had been the rule.
Until now.
Vittorio stood at the head of the old east table.
Twelve seat markers existed.
Mia had found number twelve.
Mauro opened an old drawer built beneath the table.
Eleven empty slots.
All markers gone.
“Distributed,” Mauro said.
Vittorio looked at Marco.
He smiled.
“Maybe.”
“To whom?”
“No.”
Vittorio walked closer.
Marco lowered his voice.
“You keep asking questions like everyone still answers you.”
Vittorio said nothing.
Marco continued.
“That’s the problem.”
He nodded toward the dining salon.
“Half those men already think you’ve gone soft.”
“Half?”
Marco smirked.
“Maybe more.”
He wanted Vittorio uncertain.
Paranoid.
Looking at every capo differently.
It was almost effective.
Almost.
Vittorio asked:
“Who gave Mia the token?”
“I don’t know.”
Mia frowned.
“You dropped it.”
Marco’s smile disappeared.
The child continued.
“Angry man said twelve.”
Mauro crouched beside her.
“What angry man?”
“Gray eyebrows.”
Not enough.
“Tall?”
She nodded.
“Old?”
Mia held her hand above her head.
“Big old.”
Marco rolled his eyes.
“Excellent. Our leadership now depends on preschool descriptions.”
Mia looked at him.
Marco smiled.
“Maybe next she can draw us a picture.”
Anna pulled Mia closer.
Marco’s eyes moved toward her red hands.
“Still burning?”
Anna said nothing.
“Should’ve scrubbed faster.”
Vittorio turned.
Marco smiled.
He couldn't stop himself.
Cruelty had become the only form of control he had left.
“Did you know the chemicals were burning her?”
Marco shrugged.
“She had gloves.”
Anna whispered:
“They tore.”
“Then you should have asked for new ones.”
“I did.”
Marco laughed.
“And I said no.”
He looked around the room.
“Asking isn’t getting.”
Vittorio’s voice dropped.
“Why?”
Marco looked at him.
“Because people work harder when comfort disappears.”
That sentence stayed in the room.
Vittorio asked:
“Is that what the powder was for too?”
Marco’s smile faded.
“Remove comfort.”
“From me?”
“From everyone.”
Interesting.
“Explain.”
Marco realized he had gone too far.
Vittorio saw it.
Mauro did too.
Marco tried to step backward.
The guards stopped him.
Vittorio moved closer.
“You weren’t only dosing my glass.”
Silence.
Vittorio thought of the hidden room.
Three decanters.
Only one had residue.
But three had been prepared.
“Who were the other decanters for?”
Marco said nothing.
Mauro swore.
Vittorio turned toward the old east table.
Twelve men.
Secret vote.
One weakened boss.
Maybe more than one weakened capo.
Not enough to kill.
Enough to shift the room.
“Who else were you planning to drug?”
Marco laughed.
Too late.
Vittorio had the answer.
Men who would vote for him.
Loyal capos.
Reduce their strength.
Cloud judgment.
Create confusion.
Then hold the vote.
Mauro looked at Marco.
“You planned to poison half the council.”
Marco snapped:
“Not poison.”
Vittorio turned.
Marco froze.
Again.
A slip.
“What?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
Vittorio walked toward him.
“You corrected the word.”
Silence.
“So what is it?”
Marco said nothing.
Mauro looked at the blue residue.
“Sedative?”
Marco’s eyes flickered.
Vittorio saw it.
Enough.
Not poison.
Sedation.
Dizziness.
Weakness.
Confusion.
Then a secret vote conducted while selected men were impaired.
Elegant.
Cowardly.
Effective.
Vittorio looked at Marco.
“Who wins the vote?”
Marco smiled.
“Maybe nobody.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you get.”
Then a voice came from the doorway.
Anna.
Quiet.
Shaking.
“But Celeste said Marco would sit at the head.”
Everyone turned.
Marco’s face went white.
Anna looked at Vittorio.
“She said it yesterday.”
Vittorio waited.
Anna continued.
“While I was cleaning the blue room.”
“What exactly?”
Anna swallowed.
“She said, ‘Tomorrow he sits at the head, and the maid finally learns who owns this house.’”
Marco stared at her.
Hatred.
Pure.
“You stupid little servant.”
Anna recoiled.
Marco stepped forward against the guards.
“You should’ve stayed hungry.”
Vittorio’s face changed.
Marco noticed.
Still continued.
“If you had any sense, you'd take your brat and disappear before midnight.”
Silence.
Vittorio stared at him.
“Before midnight?”
Marco stopped.
Again.
Too late.
May you like
The vote was only part of the plan.
Something else was coming when the clock reached twelve.
