Chapter 4 - The Council of Wolves
The private banquet room on the top floor of the Grand Plaza Hotel smelled of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and palpable tension.
Around a massive oak table sat the heads of New York’s ruling crime families. Dozens of heavily armed bodyguards stood lined up against the wood-paneled walls, their hands resting near their jacket lapels.
At the head of the table sat Don Salvatore Mangano. He was a man in his late sixties, with silver hair, sharp reptilian eyes, and a reputation for sadistic cruelty. He had built his empire on extortion, drugs, and fear, and for years he had envied the lucrative, clean shipping routes controlled by the Torino family.
The heavy doors opened, and Vincent Torino walked into the room alone, leaving Marco and his guards outside.
Every eye in the room fixed on Vincent. He walked with a smooth, unhurried grace, completely unfazed by the dozens of guns pointed implicitly at his back. He took an empty chair opposite Mangano and sat down, casually crossing one leg over the other.
“Vincent,” Don Mangano sneered, leaning forward over his gold-handled cane. “You honor us with your presence. We were beginning to think you were too busy playing house to attend a meeting of the Commission.”
A few low chuckles echoed from the other bosses around the table.
Vincent pulled out a cigar, clipped the end with a small silver tool, and lit it, completely ignoring the taunt. He blew a ring of blue smoke toward Mangano.
“State your business, Salvatore,” Vincent said coolly. “I have a busy day.”
Mangano’s smile vanished, replaced by an ugly scowl. He slammed his hand onto the table.
“My business is Jimmy Moretti!” Mangano snarled. “He was under my protection! You walked into his club like an animal, murdered him, and executed his men! You violated the thirty-year peace treaty between our families!”
“Jimmy Moretti was a disease,” Vincent replied casually. “He ran dirty loans, preyed on the helpless, and stepped outside his boundaries.”
“He was MY man!” Mangano shouted, standing up, his face red with fury. “You don’t get to decide who lives and dies in my territory! The Commission has rules, Vincent! You broke them!”
The other bosses nodded subtly. In their world, order was everything. Unsanctioned hits on protected associates invited chaos.
“I didn't kill Jimmy over territory, Salvatore,” Vincent said softly. His voice was low, but it possessed a terrifying gravity that instantly silenced the room. “I killed him because he threatened a member of my household.”
Mangano let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “A member of your household?! Don’t lie to this table, Vincent! We all know who she is! A pathetic, penniless maid! A street woman whose dead husband couldn't pay his debts! You killed a protected earner over a servant?!”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed into dark, lethal slits. He slowly set his cigar down in the crystal ashtray.
“Careful, Salvatore,” Vincent warned, his tone dropping an octave. “You are speaking about a guest under my roof.”
“I don't give a damn who she is!” Mangano raged, completely blinded by his own anger. “You’ve gone soft, Torino! You’re losing your mind over some sick skirt and her bastard kid! You’ve brought shame to the Commission! I demand full compensation—fifty percent of your Brooklyn terminal revenue, and the heads of the men who pulled the trigger!”
Silence hung heavy in the room. The other bosses held their breath, waiting for Vincent’s response.
Vincent slowly stood up. He didn't reach for a weapon. He simply adjusted his coat, staring down at Mangano as if looking at a piece of dirt stuck to his boot.
“Thirty years ago,” Vincent said quietly, his voice echoing off the high ceiling, “the Torino family drew a line in this city. We do not deal in human trafficking. We do not poison children with street drugs. And we do not allow predatory scum to terrorize the innocent under our protection.”
Vincent took a step toward Mangano. The bodyguards behind Mangano instinctively reached for their guns, but Vincent didn't even glance at them.
“You want my Brooklyn terminals, Salvatore?” Vincent asked smoothly. “Come and take them. But know this: if a single one of your men sets foot near my estate, or if I hear her name spoken by your filthy mouth again, I will not just kill your earners. I will erase the Mangano name from the state of New York.”
Without waiting for a reply, Vincent turned his back on the most powerful mob bosses in the city and walked out of the room.
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As the heavy doors slammed shut behind him, Don Mangano’s face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred. He turned to his chief hitman standing behind him.
“Find out everything about that woman and her child,” Mangano hissed under his breath. “If Vincent Torino wants to die for a maid, I will make sure he buries her first.”
