Chapter 5 - The Syndicate Vault
The Grand Casino Vault was an underground fortress located three stories beneath the city's most luxurious hotel. It was neutral ground where the six major crime families of the state met to settle disputes, divide territories, and handle high-level syndicate politics.
When the massive steel doors of the underground ballroom slid open, the chatter inside abruptly ceased.
Heavy silence filled the room as Vincent Moretti walked in. But what truly sent shockwaves through the crowd of mafia dons, politicians, and high-ranking enforcers was the woman walking on his arm.
I held my head high, my emerald velvet gown sweeping across the dark marble floor. Every eye in the room was pinned on me. I heard shocked whispers rippling through the crowd:
"Is that the maid from the news?" "Look at her... she looks like a queen!" "She’s plus-size, yet she walks like she owns the whole city!" "Is that... Maria Moretti’s old silver locket set in emeralds?"
At the head of the long oak conference table sat Julian DeMarco—a sharp-featured, gray-haired man in his late fifties with cold, reptilian eyes. Beside him stood Vivian DeMarco, wearing a flashy silver dress and a heavy neck brace, pretending to look injured.
When Vivian saw me, her fake expression of pain vanished, replaced by pure, rage-filled shock.
"What is she doing here?!" Vivian shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at me. "Father! That is the monster who attacked me! Why is Vincent bringing a common servant into the Council Chambers?!"
Julian DeMarco slammed his fist onto the table, standing up. "Moretti! You dare bring an accused assassin into the Sacred Vault? This is an insult to the entire Syndicate Council!"
Vincent didn't even flinch. He casually walked toward the head of the table, pulled out the grand leather chair at the center, and held it out for me.
"Sit, Clara," Vincent said softly.
I sat down gracefully, crossing my legs under the heavy velvet skirt, looking Julian DeMarco dead in the eye. Vincent stood right behind my chair, resting one hand heavily on my shoulder—a clear, physical declaration that anyone who wanted to harm me would have to go through him first.
"This seat belongs to the head of the Moretti Syndicate and his chosen partner," Vincent announced, his dark voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Clara Vance has every right to sit here."
"Clara Vance?" One of the older Council members, Don Carmine, gasped. "Vance? As in Nurse Elena Vance?"
"Precisely, Don Carmine," Vincent said. "The daughter of the woman who saved my mother’s life. The rightful holder of the Moretti Life Debt."
Julian DeMarco’s face turned bright red with rage. "I don't care who her mother was! She assaulted my daughter! She ruined our family honor! The penalty for striking a DeMarco family member is death!"
"Is that so?" I spoke up, my clear, confident voice cutting through the heavy tension in the room.
Julian glared at me. "Silence, girl! You don't speak here!"
"I speak whenever I please, Mr. DeMarco," I countered coolly, leaning forward on the table. "You claim I attacked your daughter with a glass tray and a riding crop. But you seem to forget that Belladonna House isn't an ancient medieval castle—it's a modern mansion equipped with high-definition state-of-the-art security cameras."
Vivian’s face instantly drained of all color.
I reached into my small emerald clutch purse, pulled out a encrypted black USB flash drive, and slapped it onto the center of the wooden table.
"On this drive," I said, looking around at the six crime bosses, "is the unedited, 4K security footage from the ballroom last night. It shows Miss DeMarco intentionally tripping over her own dress, throwing a champagne tray at my head, and then striking me three times with a leather crop while I was on my knees."
I smiled sweetly at Vivian, whose hands were now trembling violently.
"It also includes crystal-clear audio of Miss DeMarco admitting that her father is heavily broke, and that she was only marrying Vincent to steal the Moretti family reserves to pay off your illegal debts to the Russian Cartel."
A sharp collective gasp filled the room.
Julian DeMarco turned to his daughter, his eyes wide with horror. "Vivian... what did you say?!"
"Father, she’s lying! It’s a trick!" Vivian screamed, backing away.
"Is it a trick?" Vincent stepped forward, his eyes burning with lethal intent. "Let's plug the drive into the main projector and let the entire Council decide."
Before Marco could reach for the USB drive, Julian DeMarco pulled a hidden gold-plated revolver from under his jacket and pointed it straight at my head!
"SAY ANOTHER WORD AND I’LL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT, YOU FAT LITTLE BITCH!" Julian roared, completely losing his composure.
The room erupted into total chaos. Chairs knocked over, bodyguards drew their weapons, and shouting filled the air.
In a fraction of a second, before Julian could even pull the trigger, Vincent moved like a shadow. He pulled his own custom silver-plated pistol, stepped in front of me, and fired two precise shots.
BANG! BANG!
Julian screamed as the gun was shot out of his hand, his blood splattering onto the pristine white table. He collapsed back into his chair, clutching his shattered hand.
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Vincent stepped up to Julian, pressing the smoking barrel of his gun directly against Julian’s forehead.
"Rule number one of the Syndicate Council," Vincent whispered in a voice so cold it made the blood in my veins run freeze. "Never point a gun at my woman."
