Chapter 6
Three Marconi capos had been approached.
Bramwell refused.
Leonard Crowe listened but promised nothing.
Arthur Vale—no, different name. I chose Theodore Sloane—had encouraged Warren.
Theodore was waiting downstairs.
I brought him up.
He entered confident.
That irritated me more than fear would have.
“Giulietta.”
Not Boss.
Interesting.
“When did I become Giulietta to you?”
His confidence flickered.
Good.
He admitted meeting Warren twice.
His reasoning was simple.
Marconi had become too centered on me.
Too young.
Too female.
He did not say female immediately.
Men rarely do when they know the word exposes them.
Eventually he did.
“I thought Preston might steady the table.”
I looked toward Preston.
“Steady me?”
Theodore swallowed.
“The perception.”
Whose?
Older allies.
Some conservative crews.
Men who believed a husband would make negotiations more predictable.
I laughed quietly.
“You planned to use my marriage to make men more comfortable with my authority.”
No one answered.
Then I asked Preston:
“Did you know?”
He hesitated too long.
Not all of it.
But some.
Warren had told him that after marriage certain capos would “naturally” bring issues through him.
Preston liked the idea.
He told himself it was partnership.
That word has covered a thousand thefts.
“You expected my men to consult you.”
“I’d be your husband.”
“Exactly.”
He did not understand.
So I made it simple.
“My husband gets my love.”
I paused.
“Not my chair.”
Silence.
Theodore looked down.
I removed him from operational council that night.
Not from the family.
Not beaten.
Not exiled.
He had shown a judgment problem.
He lost the role requiring judgment.
Specific consequences.
Warren called it impulsive.
I looked at him.
“You spent months arranging my power around your son without speaking to me.”
May you like
Then:
“You’re not qualified to diagnose impulse.”
