Chapter 7 - The Bloodline Broken
Chaos erupted inside St. Jude’s Cathedral.
Shouts, curses, and the metallic sound of dozens of handguns being drawn echoed off the stone pillars. But nobody fired a shot. Gabriel’s strike team had the high ground, the exits, and the pulpit completely surrounded.
Gabriel walked down the iron spiral staircase from the organ loft, stepping smoothly onto the altar carpet. I walked two paces behind him, my black lace veil fluttering in the draft, holding the leather ledger firmly under my arm.
The crowd of mob bosses parted like the Red Sea as Gabriel approached the pulpit.
Dante was on his knees now, backed against the mahogany casket, his eyes wide, sweat pouring down his pale face.
"Gabriel... please," Dante sobbed, raising his left hand in a desperate gesture of mercy. "It was Valenti! Victor made me do it! He threatened to kill me if I didn't poison your tea!"
Victor Valenti froze, his face twisting into a furious mask. "You lying little dog!"
Gabriel stopped three feet from his brother. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't scream. He simply looked down at Dante with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"You traded your own brother's life for twenty million dollars and three blocks on 14th Street," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a cold, terrifying whisper that carried across the quiet church. "You aren't a Costa, Dante. You're a leech."
Gabriel looked at his chief lieutenant, a tall man named Marco standing by the front row.
"Take Victor Valenti to the dock house," Gabriel ordered. "Strip his family of their distribution licenses. If any Valenti steps foot in Chicago after noon today, kill them all."
"Yes, Don Costa," Marco grunted, grabbing Victor by his collar and dragging the screaming older man out through the side doors.
Gabriel turned back to Dante.
"And my brother?" Marco asked, pointing his weapon at Dante's chest.
Gabriel looked at me.
"Elena," Gabriel said softly, turning his head to meet my eyes behind the lace veil. "He tried to put you in a basement. He tried to break your fingers. What should I do with him?"
The entire cathedral went quiet again. Three hundred of the most dangerous men in the Midwest stared at me—a girl in a maid's apron five days ago, now holding the power of life and death over a mafia prince.
I looked at Dante. I saw the sniveling, cowardice beneath his tailored suit. I saw the man who had poisoned his own blood for money.
"Send him to the salt mines in Italy," I said, my voice clear and steady as glass. "Let him scrub floors for fourteen dollars an hour until his fingers bleed."
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Gabriel let out a short, dark laugh that echoed through the high stone arches.
"You heard the lady," Gabriel commanded his guards. "Put him on a cargo ship tonight."
