Chapter 8 - THE MANHATTAN SIT-DOWN
The Grand Ballroom of the Hotel St. Regis in New York was entirely closed to the public. High-ranking security personnel from six different syndicates stood at five-foot intervals along the marble corridors, their hands clasped in front of them, their eyes scanning every waiter and staff member who approached the double gold doors.
Inside, beneath a ceiling painted with Italian frescoes and illuminated by a massive crystal chandelier, sat the rulers of the American underworld. Six men, all in their sixties and seventies, representing billions of dollars in illegal enterprise, sat around a massive circular table.
Dominic Vale sat at the twelve o'clock position. To his right sat June, wearing a tailored dark emerald dress Francesca had selected for her. She looked remarkably elegant, her long hair pulled back to reveal the tiny crescent scar behind her ear, the gold locket resting prominently against her collarbone. Vincent and Marco stood behind their chairs like twin sentinels of dark stone.
At the opposite end of the table sat Anthony Moretti, a bulky, red-faced man whose expensive suit couldn't hide the coarse, brutal nature of his character. He was sweating slightly, his fingers nervously twirling a heavy gold signet ring.
"We are here because the violence in New Jersey is bad for the ports," the head of the New York Lucchese family, a frail-looking man named Don Carmine, spoke up. His voice was a wispy rasp, but the entire room held its breath to hear it. "Dominic, you threw Silvio over a railing. You burned three of Anthony’s warehouses in Elizabeth. This is not how we conduct business."
"I conduct business exactly how I see fit when it comes to my house, Carmine," Dominic countered, his voice steady and resonant. "Anthony Moretti paid my capo twenty-three years ago to abduct my daughter from her crib. He caused the death of my wife. And two days ago, his men fired weapons at my front gate."
The table went silent. The New York Dons looked from Dominic to Anthony, their expressions shifting from irritation to a cold, disapproving assessment. In their world, killing a rival was standard; stealing a Don’s infant child and commingling with traitors within the house was a violation of the ancient codes that protected all their families.
"Anthony," Don Carmine said slowly, turning his ancient eyes toward the red-faced man. "Is this true?"
"It was a different time!" Anthony yelled, his voice echoing too loudly against the high ceiling. "We were at war for the northern docks! It was a tactical move! And that girl... how do we even know she’s who he says she is? He finds some street girl from Newark and suddenly we're supposed to drop our weapons and give him the harbor?"
Before Dominic could speak, June leaned forward. The movement was so deliberate, so sharp, that every eye at the table instantly locked onto her. She didn't look like a victim; she looked like a woman who had spent twenty-four years surviving people far worse than Anthony Moretti.
"My name is June Rose Vale," she said, her voice clear, ringing with an authority that surprised even her father. "I spent my life being raised by the thieves your family paid to hide me, Mr. Moretti. I grew up in apartments your money funded. I have the locket my mother put around my neck, and I have the scar your driver gave me when he ran her car off the road."
She reached up, unclasped the small gold locket, and slid it across the polished wood of the table. It slid smoothly, stopping exactly in front of Don Carmine. The old man picked it up with a trembling, liver-spotted hand, inspected the tiny silver keyhole, and looked at the photo inside.
Carmine closed the locket and looked back at Anthony. "The child is Rosemary’s. There is no doubt."
The old Don slid the locket back to June, then looked around the table at the other New York bosses. They all gave a slight, nearly imperceptible nod. The verdict was reached without a single jury or judge.
"The Moretti family will surrender all claims to the New Jersey harbor berths," Don Carmine decreed, his voice absolute. "They will pay a tribute of two million dollars to the Vale family as restitution for the twenty-three years of lost income and grief. And Anthony..."
Carmine looked at the red-faced man with a look of pure pity. "You will step down as the head of your family. Your brother, Leo, will take your seat at this table. You are a liability to the commission."
"You can't do this!" Anthony screamed, standing up so fast his chair flipped backward onto the carpet. "I built the Newark crews! I’m not stepping down for some ghost!"
Anthony’s hand reached inside his jacket, a frantic, suicidal movement of a desperate man.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He vaulted over the edge of the circular table, his leather shoe landing squarely in the center of the mahogany wood, and landed directly in front of Anthony before the man could draw his weapon. With a sickening crack, Vincent broke Anthony’s wrist, forcing the firearm to drop to the floor, then secured his arm behind his back, pressing his face hard against the polished table.
The New York bodyguards raised their weapons, but Dominic’s men were already matched, forty barrels locked on forty targets in a fraction of a second.
"Leo," Don Carmine said, his voice entirely unbothered by the violence on the table.
A quiet, gray-haired man sitting behind Anthony stepped forward. He looked at his brother’s face pressed against the wood, then looked at Dominic. "The terms are accepted, Don Dominic. The harbor is yours. My brother will retire to Florida tonight. He will never be seen in New Jersey again."
Dominic stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. He looked down at Anthony, who was groaning in pain under Vincent’s grip.
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"If he enters my state again, Leo, I won't call a sit-down," Dominic said smoothly. "I will call a funeral."
He turned to June, offering his arm. She took it, her hand steady, her expression calm as they walked out of the Grand Ballroom of the St Regis, leaving the rulers of New York behind them. For the first time, she didn't feel like Harper Keene trying to survive. She felt like June Rose Vale, and she had just claimed her kingdom.
