By the time I aimed my gun at the young maid holding my dying son against her bare chest, Leo had already done what twenty doctors, three private clinics, and millions of dollars could not make him do.

The meeting of the High Commission was held in the private dining room of La Lanterna, an exclusive, windowless restaurant in the heart of Little Italy. The room was thick with cigar smoke and the heavy, tense silence of five of the most powerful crime bosses in North America.

Victor sat at the head of the table, wearing a smug, triumphant smile.

"As you all know," Victor said, raising a glass of scotch, "our beloved Lorenzo has succumbed to his grief. His mental state has deteriorated, and his tragic son has passed away in the night. The Rossi family needs strong leadership to navigate these turbulent times. I propose—"

The heavy oak doors of the dining room burst open.

I walked in, flanked by Marco and ten heavily armed, loyal soldiers. The room erupted into chaos, men reaching for their breast pockets, but my guards already had their weapons drawn and aimed.

"Lorenzo!" one of the older dons, Don Carmine, gasped, standing up. "You're alive!"

"Very much so, Carmine," I said, walking slowly down the length of the table. I kept my eyes locked on Victor, whose face had turned an ashen, ghostly white.

"This is an outrage!" Victor stammered, trying to regain his composure. "Lorenzo has lost his mind! He's compromised! He's bringing armed men into a peaceful council!"

"I am here to settle a debt," I said, stopping at the opposite end of the table. I tossed the black ledger onto the center of the polished mahogany wood, alongside Martha's phone. "And to show you what kind of snake you have been sitting with."

Don Carmine picked up the ledger, his brow furrowing as he read. I pressed play on a remote control in my hand, connecting Martha’s phone to the room's sound system.

Victor’s voice echoed through the speakers, clear and chilling.

"Just a little more in his morning bottle, Martha. We need him gone by the end of the month. Make sure the doctors think it's a genetic defect inherited from his mother."

The silence in the room was deafening. Even the most hardened killers around the table looked disgusted. In our world, women and children were sacred. To poison a newborn baby was an act of cowardice so vile it was punishable by death under every law of the streets.

Don Carmine closed the ledger with a heavy thud. He looked up at Victor, his eyes filled with a cold, absolute contempt.

"You are no Marcconi," Carmine whispered. "You are a rat."

Victor looked around the room, realizing in an instant that his allies had vanished. He reached for a gun hidden beneath his jacket, but before he could even clear the holster, I pulled my Beretta and fired.

One shot. Clean. Right through the heart.

Victor fell backward, his chair tipping over, his body crashing to the floor. The glass of scotch he held shattered, the dark amber liquid mixing with his blood on the Persian rug.

I lowered my gun, looking at the remaining dons.

"The Rossi family remains mine," I said, my voice echoing in the quiet room. "Does anyone object?"