Chapter 6 - A Dinner with Traitors
The great dining hall of the Falcone estate was dressed in opulence fit for royalty. A forty-foot table of polished ebony was laid with fine bone china, sterling silver cutlery, and crystal decanters filled with aged Barolo wine. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out the night, and guards in sharp black suits stood at attention every six feet.
Seated around the table were the most ruthless figures in Chicago’s criminal underworld: the heads of the north, west, and south factions, along with Dante’s most senior Capos.
At the far end of the table sat Emilio. He was a man of fifty, with silver-streaked hair, sharp predator eyes, and an arrogant grin that flashed a silver-capped premolar whenever he spoke. The sweet, pungent odor of clove cigarettes clung to his bespoke suit.
Dante sat at the head of the table. He wore a crisp white dress shirt under a tailored black vest, his inked arms bare, displaying the terrifying tally of his reign.
Beside him, an empty chair had been placed.
"Don Falcone," Emilio began, swirling wine in his glass, his voice dripping with false deference. "We were surprised by your sudden invitation. Word on the street is that security at the estate was tested last night. Some are saying the Don is distracted... perhaps losing his grip after months of mourning."
Murmurs of agreement echoed among the captains. The tension in the room was a wire pulled to its absolute breaking point.
Dante didn't raise his voice. He calmly sliced into a rare steak, the silver knife scraping the porcelain with a rhythmic, chilling precision.
"Distracted, Emilio?" Dante asked, chewing slowly before taking a sip of wine. "A man mourning his wife is never distracted. He is merely waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Emilio scoffed, leaning forward. "The Council is growing restless, Dante. The South docks are bleeding money. Rumors say you've brought a common maid and her bastard child into the master suite. You insult the memory of Carmela by playing family with lowlifes while the New York families circle our territory."
A heavy silence descended. Men stopped breathing. To speak Carmela's name so flippantly was a death wish.
Dante slowly set his fork down. He leaned back in his high-backed chair and tapped the table once.
The side doors opened.
Gasps rippled across the room as I walked out, dressed in an elegant navy-blue silk dress Dante had ordered for me, holding Sophia’s hand. Sophia wore her favorite yellow dress, clutching her rabbit. She walked beside me, completely unfazed by the dozens of hardened killers staring at her.
"Dante, what is this circus?" Emilio demanded, his eyes widening in subtle panic. "Bringing a toddler to a Council meeting?"
"Sophia," Dante called gently, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. "Come sit by me."
Sophia let go of my hand, walking straight toward the Don. As she passed Emilio’s chair, she abruptly stopped. She sniffed the air, wrinkled her small nose, and looked Emilio dead in the eye.
"You smell like burning leaves," Sophia said in her high, clear voice. "The lady says you're a thief."
Emilio’s face flushed purple. "Get this filthy brat out of here! Are you insane, Dante?"
Dante didn't flinch. "Tell him what else the lady said, Sophia."
Sophia climbed onto Dante’s lap, pointing directly at the silver-capped tooth gleaming in Emilio’s mouth. "She says you have her watch in your jacket. And she says you told the bad men to shoot the black car when it turned the corner."
The entire dining room froze. Capos looked at one another, horror dawning in their eyes.
"Lies!" Emilio bellowed, slamming both hands on the table, standing up so violently his chair toppled backward. "You’re accusing me based on the gibberish of a child? Dante has lost his mind! Kill him!"
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Emilio reached into his jacket for his concealed firearm.
***
