Chapter 3 - The Council of Snakes
The grand conservatory of the Thorne Estate was built of dark iron and reinforced bulletproof glass, surrounded by rare black orchids and white marble fountains.
Five men sat around a circular mahogany table in the center of the glass room. They wore three-piece suits, diamond pinky rings, and expressions of barely contained rage.
At the head of the group sat Don Vincente Voss—an old man with cold, sunken eyes and skin like yellowed parchment. Beside him sat Don Moretti, Don Castiglione, Don Falcone, and Don Maroni—the rulers of the Five Families that controlled the criminal underworld of the North East.
Gabriel entered the room alone, unhooking his cuffs as he walked toward his elevated leather throne at the head of the table. Silas stood at the conservatory entrance, four armed guards at his side.
Gabriel did not offer his guests refreshments. He sat down, leaned back, and looked at the five men with cold detachment.
“Speak,” Gabriel commanded.
Vincente Voss slammed his withered hand against the mahogany table. “Where is my son, Gabriel? You dragged Damon from a legitimate construction site in broad daylight! You broke his ribs and left him locked in a holding cell at your harbor depot!”
“Your son was attempting to murder Thomas Wren’s daughter,” Gabriel replied smoothly. “He threw her into an excavation pit and ordered a concrete truck to cover her body.”
A tense murmur ripple through the other four Dons.
Don Castiglione—a broad-shouldered man in his sixties—looked sharply at Vincente. “You told us Damon was dealing with an extortionist, Vincente! You didn't say it was Thomas Wren’s child!”
“What difference does it make whose daughter she is?!” Vincente spat, his face flushing dark red. “The girl has the master ledger! She has the financial records of every family in this room! If those files hit the federal courts, every one of us will spend the rest of our lives in ADX Florence!”
“She did not give the files to the federals,” Gabriel said calmly. “Because she realized your corrupted prosecutors were already in Damon’s pocket.”
“Then give her to us!” Vincente demanded, leaning across the table. “We will extract the decryption key from her, recover the hard drives, and eliminate the threat once and for all!”
Gabriel slowly leaned forward. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Did you not hear me, Vincente?” Gabriel’s voice dropped into a dark, gravelly register. “She is Thomas Wren’s daughter. Her father took a bullet to the chest to save my life. Her blood is under the protection of the High Sovereign.”
“Thomas Wren has been dead for ten years!” Vincente roared, his composure completely shattering. “You cannot sacrifice the alliance of the Five Families for the daughter of a dead auditor! We built this syndicate! Our money fills your vaults!”
“Your money,” Gabriel said softly, “exists because I allow you to operate in my city. You have forgotten your place, Vincente. You think because my father died and I took the crown at twenty-five that I am soft.”
Gabriel raised his hand slightly.
Silas stepped forward, setting a thick leather dossier on the table in front of Vincente.
Vincente opened it suspiciously. His eyes scanned the first page, and the color instantly drained from his face.
“What... what is this?” Vincente whispered.
“That,” Gabriel explained smoothly, “is the secondary ledger that Nora Wren gave to me three hours ago. It details your private side-dealings with the Russian Bratva in Brooklyn. You have been skimming three percent off the Castiglione shipping lines and laundering it through your son’s construction firms.”
Don Castiglione instantly stood up, his chair scraping violently against the marble floor. He glared down at Vincente with lethal fury. “Is this true, Vincente? You’ve been stealing from my docks?!”
“It’s a lie!” Vincente stammered, pulling at his collar. “Gabriel made it up to divide us!”
“The bank account numbers match your wife’s offshore trusts in Panama, Vincente,” Gabriel said coldly. “Check them yourself, Castiglione.”
Don Castiglione pulled his satellite phone from his jacket, dialing a rapid number. Ten seconds later, his face turned black with rage. He looked at Vincente as if he wanted to tear the old man’s heart out with his bare teeth.
“You hypocritical bastard,” Castiglione hissed at Vincente. “You dragged us here to protect your idiot son, while you were bleeding my family dry!”
“Castiglione, wait—” Vincente pleaded.
“The Voss family is stripped of its voting rights on the Conclave,” Gabriel declared, his voice ringing out like a judge pronouncing a death sentence. “Damon Voss will remain in my custody until Nora Wren decides his fate. And if any member of the Voss family comes within three miles of this estate, I will hand your entire financial ledger directly to the Department of Justice.”
The other three Dons—Moretti, Falcone, and Maroni—instantly stood up, pulling their coats around themselves, turning their backs on Vincente Voss.
“We stand with the Black Crown,” Don Moretti said, bowing his head respectfully to Gabriel. “Vincente acts alone.”
“Get out of my sight,” Gabriel ordered flatly.
The four Dons rushed out of the conservatory, leaving Vincente Voss sitting alone at the large table, broken, exposed, and utterly ruined.
Vincente looked up at Gabriel, his eyes burning with a desperate, toxic hatred. “You think you’ve won, Thorne? The girl won't keep your secrets forever. She’s an outsider! She’s an auditor’s child! Sooner or later, she will betray you just like her father betrayed the old ways!”
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Gabriel stood up, towering over the old Don.
“Thomas Wren never betrayed anyone,” Gabriel said softly, his voice thick with unyielding devotion. “He served truth. And as long as Nora Wren breathes, truth sits beside the Black Crown.”
