Chapter 8 - The Ghost Returns
A hush fell over the entire grand hall—a silence so profound that the crackle of the fireplace sounded like thunder.
Stepping through the doorway, leaning slightly on a cane for support, was Marco Castellano. He was dressed in a clean, dark suit that hung loosely on his thinned frame. His face bore the scars of fifteen years in exile, but his posture was upright, his head held high, and his eyes burned with an unyielding, fierce brilliance.
Don Salvatore staggered backward, his knees hitting the heavy mahogany chair behind him. He looked as though he were staring straight into the face of an apparition risen from the grave.
"M-Marco...?" Salvatore stammered, his voice losing all its thunder, reduced to a dry, terrified wheeze. "That's... that's impossible. We burned the body. We verified the records!"
"You verified what you paid your corrupt coroners to fake," Marco said, his voice echoing clearly across the hall as he walked slowly toward the head of the table, stopping beside Vincent. "You thought you buried me in the harbor, Salvatore. But tyranny never buries its victims deep enough. They always come back to collect."
The bosses from Philadelphia, Boston, and Newark exchanged dark, murderous glances. In the underworld, betrayal of a sworn brother was the ultimate sin, but embezzling from the syndicate's collective treasury was a capital offense that warranted execution without trial.
One by one, the visiting bosses stood up from their chairs, turning their backs on Don Salvatore. The old man was entirely isolated. His empire, built on lies, blood, and deceit, had crumbled in the span of five minutes.
"Take him," Vincent commanded.
Before Salvatore could reach for the ivory-handled revolver hidden in his desk drawer, Tony Rini and Paulie seized him by the arms, yanking him out of his chair and stripping him of his weapon. Salvatore thrashed and screamed, hurling curses and empty threats, but his voice was drowned out by the cold reality of his defeat.
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"What are you going to do with me?" Salvatore shrieked as they dragged him toward the exit. "You can't kill me! The commission will never allow it!"
"The commission is right here," Vincent replied coldly, looking around the room at the assembled leaders who nodded in silent agreement. "And your judgment has been rendered."
