Chapter 4
I ordered the seven to sit together.
Same side of the table.
No weapons.
No phones.
No private conversations.
Damian laughed.
“You think we're plotting against you?”
I looked at him.
“You conducted a loyalty vote using my children as bait.”
He stopped laughing.
Marguerite sat beside him.
Peter.
Elaine.
Francis.
Two more relatives.
One capo named Samuel.
Seven.
I stood at the opposite end of the table.
“Who came up with the test?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at Francis.
He had already spoken once.
Fear makes people consistent.
“Francis.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Marguerite.”
Damian turned.
“You coward.”
I ignored him.
“What was the test?”
Francis looked at Marguerite.
Then me.
“If you let the children eat after she refused them…”
I waited.
“…nothing.”
That surprised me.
“If I did nothing?”
“You passed.”
The room went still.
I understood.
They expected me to accept my own children being humiliated.
To prove the family came first.
“And if I defended them?”
Francis swallowed.
“Then Damian would call for a council.”
“A council for what?”
His eyes dropped.
“To remove you.”
There it was.
Simple.
Ugly.
Pathetic.
Marguerite leaned forward.
“You've become sentimental.”
“I've become a father.”
“Exactly.”
She said it like a disease.
I looked at her.
“You spent months depriving children of food to prove their father loves them.”
Her face hardened.
“You're making it sound vulgar.”
“It is vulgar.”
Damian slammed his palm on the table.
“You don't understand what people say when you leave a room.”
I turned toward him.
“What do they say?”
“That Anthony checks the clock because bedtime matters.”
He laughed.
“That Anthony won't stay late because one of the girls has nightmares.”
My expression didn't change.
“That Anthony doesn't want blood near the house anymore.”
He leaned forward.
“That Anthony got soft.”
I nodded.
“And who told them softness meant weakness?”
He didn't answer.
I already knew.
He had.
For months.
Maybe longer.
I looked toward Marco.
“Search every coat.”
Marguerite stood.
“You have no right.”
I looked at her.
“Sit.”
She sat.
The bodyguards went through garment bags, coat pockets, briefcases.
At first, nothing.
Then one of them returned carrying a small black velvet pouch.
He placed it on the table.
Inside were seven matte-black coins.
Each marked with a silver V.
One for every raised hand.
I picked one up.
“What is this?”
Peter answered.
“A marker.”
“For?”
“Tonight.”
I looked at Damian.
He said nothing.
Francis did.
“We were told anyone willing to stand with Damian would carry one.”
I looked around.
“Stand with him for what?”
Francis's voice dropped.
“If the council removed you…”
He looked toward Damian.
“…Damian would take control until the family stabilized.”
There it was.
Not tradition.
Not discipline.
Power.
I turned the coin between my fingers.
Then Marco returned.
He held an eighth coin.
I frowned.
“Where?”
“Your coat, Boss.”
Every person at the table stopped breathing.
I stared at the coin in his palm.
Someone had placed the same marker on me.
May you like
Meaning the plan was bigger than a vote.
Someone needed it to look like I had agreed to my own removal.
