Chapter 5 - The Trial of Blood and GoldAt precisely twelve o'clock noon, the heavy oak doors of the Moretti estate’s grand ballroom swung open.
Inside, seated around a massive, oval mahogany table, were the leaders of the five major syndicates that controlled the eastern seaboard. Men in thousand-dollar suits, surrounded by their respective lieutenants and consigliere, spoke in low, hushed tones as cigars smoke drifted toward the crystal chandeliers above.
At the head of the table sat Tomaso Scalia.
Scalia was in his late fifties, a sharp-featured man with greasy silver hair, cold blue eyes, and a cruel, arrogant sneer. Following the downfall of the Rossellini family in Sicily, Scalia had used blood money to expand his influence into New York, attempting to position himself as the supreme authority over the families.
"Where is Moretti?" Scalia barked impatiently, flicking cigar ash onto the polished table. "He called this emergency meeting, and now he keeps us waiting like children!"
"Patience, Scalia," old Don Lucchese muttered from across the table. "Lorenzo doesn't waste our time without reason."
Suddenly, the double doors at the main entrance slammed open.
Matteo Giordano and a dozen heavily armed Moretti enforcers stepped inside, lining the walls of the room with unyielding discipline.
Then walked Lorenzo Moretti.
Beside him, walking with her head held high, her velvet dress trailing gracefully across the marble floor, was Sophia Rossellini.
The room erupted into whispers. The bosses leaned forward, their eyes widening as they took in the striking woman walking beside the most powerful Don in Manhattan.
Scalia’s face went completely ghost-white. His cigar slipped from his fingers, falling onto his pants before he frantically brushed it away.
"Impossible..." Scalia gasped, his voice trembling with sudden horror. "She... she died in Palermo!"
"You always were bad at finishing your jobs, Scalia," Lorenzo announced, his deep voice booming through the high-ceilinged room as he led Sophie to the head of the table.
Lorenzo pulled out the central leather chair, bowing slightly as Sophie took her seat. Lorenzo remained standing at her right side, his hand resting casually on the butt of his gun.
"Gentlemen of the Commission," Lorenzo declared, looking around the room at the gathered bosses. "Five years ago, a cowardly traitor paid mercenaries to slaughter Don Vincenzo Rossellini and his family in cold blood, violating the ancient peace pact of the Western Province."
The bosses nodded solemnly. Don Vincenzo had been respected by all of them.
"Scalia claimed the Rossellini line was extinguished," Lorenzo continued, pointing a sharp finger at Scalia. "He used that lie to seize their shipping ports, their legitimate assets, and their seat on this council."
"This is an outrage!" Scalia shrieked, standing up so fast his chair fell backward. "This woman is an impostor! A fake hired by Moretti to stage a coup! Don Vincenzo’s daughter is buried in Sicily!"
Sophie slowly raised her right hand.
The bright afternoon light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows caught the heavy gold signet ring on her thumb. The roaring lion crest of the Rossellini family burned like a beacon of fire.
"Look closely, Tomaso," Sophie said, her voice dropping into the ancient, terrifying dialect of the mountain clans. "È l'anello di mio padre. E io sono la figlia del Leone."
(It is my father's ring. And I am the daughter of the Lion.)
The older bosses in the room gasped. Don Lucchese stood up slowly, putting on his spectacles and leaning over the table to examine the ring and Sophie's face.
"By God..." Lucchese whispered, his eyes filling with emotional tears. "The eyes of Vincenzo. The jawline of her mother. She is Sophia Rossellini."
The room erupted into a deafening roar of shouting and table-slamming as the bosses turned their fury upon Scalia.
"Traitor!" Lucchese yelled, pointing at Scalia. "You lied to the Commission! You spilled sacred blood!"
Desperate and cornered, Scalia reached into his jacket, pulling out a snub-nosed revolver and aiming it directly at Sophie’s chest. "IF I CAN'T HAVE THE REALM, NEITHER CAN YOU!"
BANG!
A single, thunderous gunshot shattered the room.
Before Scalia could pull his trigger, Lorenzo had drawn his Sig Sauer with terrifying speed, firing a single round directly through Scalia’s forehead.
Scalia stood frozen for a second, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing backward onto the marble floor, dead before he hit the ground.
Silence fell over the ballroom. Smoke curled lazily from the barrel of Lorenzo’s gun.
Lorenzo holstered his weapon calmly, stepping in front of Sophie, looking out at the remaining bosses with lethal, unquestioned dominance.
"The Scalia faction is dissolved," Lorenzo declared coldly. "Their assets, their territory, and their ports are hereby returned to their rightful owner—Donna Sophia Rossellini."
Don Lucchese stepped forward, raising his wine glass high into the air. "To Donna Sophia! The Lion of Sicily!"
Every boss in the room stood up, raising their glasses in unison, their voices echoing through the grand hall:
"TO DONNA SOPHIA!"
Sophie looked up at Lorenzo. He turned to her, sinking gracefully onto one knee before her chair, taking her hand and pressing a respectful, loving kiss to her gold ring.
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"Your kingdom is restored, my Queen," Lorenzo whispered softly.
Sophie smiled, her hazel eyes shining with tears of absolute triumph. The waitress from Tribeca was gone forever. The true Queen of Manhattan had finally taken her throne.
