The Council's Wrath

The grand dining room of the Marchetti estate was lit by a massive crystal chandelier that cast a glittering glow over the long mahogany table. Vittoria sat at the foot of the table, wearing a stunning burgundy silk dress that clung to her curves, her hands cold as she gripped the silver fork.

To her right sat Silvio, one of the oldest capos of the Marchetti syndicate, his face scarred and his expression hostile. Cassian sat at the head of the table, his dark eyes observing the room with quiet, lethal precision.

"We are celebrating a union tonight," Cassian announced, raising his crystal glass of red wine. "Vittoria Carvelli has signed the marriage contract. She is now my fiancée, and she will be protected under the Marchetti name."

The table of ten captains remained silent, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"A Carvelli," Silvio muttered, setting his glass down with a loud clatter. "You bring the daughter of Salvatore into our inner circle, Cassian? Her father slaughtered fifty of our men before we put him in the dirt. Her blood is poison."

"Her blood is mine," Cassian replied, his voice deceptively calm. "She signed the contract, Silvio. The Carvelli territories are now officially under my control. The war is over."

"The war is not over while she breathes," Silvio spat, leaning forward and glaring at Vittoria. "She is a rat from a dead dynasty. She belongs in a ditch, not wearing our silk and sitting at our table. She is probably planning to poison us all."

Vittoria felt every eye in the room lock onto her, but she refused to look down, her chin rising as she stared back at the old captain. "I did not ask to be here, Silvio. But I am not a rat. And I am not afraid of you."

Silvio laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Look at her. The little princess thinks she has teeth. You are nothing but a whore of a dead house, girl. Your father died begging for his life, and you will end up the same way."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Vittoria watched Cassian, who did not yell or slam his fist on the table. Instead, he stood up slowly, his movements graceful and silent as he walked down the length of the mahogany table.

"Cassian," Enzo warned quietly, his hand moving toward his jacket.

Cassian ignored him, stopping directly behind Silvio's chair and placing his hands on the old man's shoulders. Silvio went rigid, his laughter dying in his throat.

"Silvio," Cassian said, his voice a low, terrifying whisper that resonated through the quiet room. "Do you remember the oath you took when I became Don?"

"I, I remember, boss," Silvio stammered, his bravado fading under the weight of Cassian's presence.

"You swore to obey my commands, you swore to respect my house," Cassian murmured, his hand sliding up to grip Silvio's hair. "And you swore to defend what is mine."

Before Silvio could reply, Cassian's hand moved with lightning speed, slamming Silvio's face down into the ceramic plate, the sound of breaking porcelain echoing through the room.

Silvio screamed as Cassian grabbed a silver steak knife from the table and drove it straight through the palm of Silvio's hand, pinning it to the mahogany wood.

Blood splattered across the white tablecloth, and several captains stood up, their chairs scraping back.

"Sit down," Cassian commanded, his voice slicing through the room like a blade.

The captains froze, slowly returning to their seats as none of them dared to look Cassian in the eye.

"This is my wife," Cassian whispered, his hand still holding Silvio by the hair, forcing the bleeding man to look at the rest of the table. "If anyone in this room, or in this city, speaks to her with disrespect again, I will not just take your hand. I will take your tongue. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, boss," the captains muttered in unison.

"Enzo, remove Silvio from my table," Cassian ordered, releasing his grip. "He has lost his appetite."

Vittoria watched in horror as Enzo and another guard dragged the sobbing, bleeding capo out of the room. Her body was shaking violently, her eyes fixed on the blood stain on the white tablecloth, realizing with terrifying clarity that Cassian had just painted a target on his own chest to protect her.