Chapter 9 - The Trials of the Syndicate
Peace in the Chicago underworld, however, was never absolute.
Two weeks after the purge of the Kensington faction, a high-level emergency meeting of the syndicate capos was called at an abandoned meatpacking plant on the south side of town—neutral territory.
Leo sat at the head of a steel table surrounded by his top five commanders: Mateo, Sal Marcone, Bruno Rossi (his cousin), and two older capos who remembered when Leo’s father ran the streets with a Tommy gun.
“Word is getting around that you’ve gone soft, Boss,” Bruno Rossi rumbled, leaning back with a cigar in his mouth. “You threw out Victoria Kensington, you let Senator Arthur fall without firing a shot, and now you’re spending your afternoons helping a kitchen maid homeschool your kid.”
Silence fell over the room. The other capos exchanged uneasy glances, waiting to see how the Don would respond to an open challenge to his authority.
Leo didn't raise his voice. He slowly pulled a gold lighter from his pocket, flicked it open, and lit a thin Tuscan cigar, blowing a thin plume of blue smoke toward the ceiling.
“Bruno,” Leo said, his voice dropping into that icy, lethal register. “How many warehouses do you run in the harbor district?”
“Four,” Bruno answered suspiciously.
“And last month, how many shipments of contraband were intercepted by federal agents because your dock foremen were taking bribes from the Outfit in New York?”
Bruno’s face went pale. He stammered, “That—that was a leak, Boss, I swear—!”
“It wasn't a leak, Bruno. It was incompetence,” Leo said coldly. He stood up, towering over the table, his dark eyes sweeping across every man in the room. “You think I’ve gone soft because I cleaned the rot out of my own house? Let me remind you of something. When I took over this syndicate ten years ago, I inherited a bleeding empire surrounded by vultures. I didn't survive by being merciful to traitors or fools.”
He leaned forward, slamming both palms onto the steel table with a force that made the glasses rattle.
“My daughter almost died because someone in my house cared more about her social calendar than a child’s lungs. And the moment I found out, I broke the people responsible. If any man in this room thinks my focus on my family makes me weak... I invite you to try testing me right now.”
No one moved. No one spoke. Bruno dropped his gaze to the table, swallowing hard.
May you like
Mateo let out a quiet, satisfied chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “Anybody else have questions about the Boss’s domestic arrangements?” he asked into the silence.
“Meeting adjourned,” Leo said, turning on his heel and walking out of the warehouse without looking back.
