THE BLOOD WEDDING CONTRACT

The Empire Room at the Palmer House was dripping with gilded Beaux-Arts extravagance, but the atmosphere inside was as tense and freezing as a subterranean vault.

Salvatore Moretti sat at the center of the massive oval mahogany table, his frail, liver-spotted hands resting on the crisp white tablecloth. Flanking him were the heads of the four remaining syndicate families that controlled the Midwest corridors. Behind each man stood two bodyguards, their hands resting noticeably inside their suit coats, eyes darting toward every shadow.

When the heavy carved doors swung open, Roman entered first. He was dressed in a bespoke midnight-blue three-piece suit, projecting the absolute, unassailable power of a king entering a conquered province.

But it was the woman beside him that caused a collective intake of breath around the table.

Tessa wore an impeccably tailored black tuxedo suit with a silk camisole underneath, her dark hair swept into an elegant chignon, her grandmother's diamond earrings catching the light of the crystal chandeliers. In her hands, she carried a slim, silver leather portfolio. She did not walk behind Roman. She walked directly beside him, matching his long strides with steady, unhurried grace.

Roman pulled out the heavy leather armchair at the head of the table. He did not sit. He looked at Tessa, waiting until she took her seat before taking the chair beside her.

Salvatore Moretti leaned forward, his watery gray eyes assessing the two of them with shrewd calculation. "Roman," the old man rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraping against stone. "You caused quite an earthquake last night. The news is calling it the largest federal sweep in Cook County history. Richard Bishop is in a medical ward, his son is facing life in Marion, and your engagement party turned into an FBI staging ground."

"Richard Bishop brought aconitine into my home, Salvatore," Roman replied, his voice level, carrying effortlessly across the silent room. "He attempted to murder me during a private toast and seize control of the Castell territory using a forged prenuptial agreement. He violated the sacred peace of the commission. His fate was sealed the moment he stepped through my doors."

"And the federal involvement?" demanded Vince Lucchese, the hot-headed boss of the South Side docks. "Since when does a Castell invite the feds into syndicate business? You opened our backyard to the Department of Justice!"

Tessa did not wait for Roman to answer. She opened the silver portfolio with a crisp, authoritative flick of her wrist and slid three documents across the polished mahogany.

"Special Agent Harris did not investigate the syndicate, Mr. Lucchese," Tessa said, her voice clear, commanding the entire room without raising its volume. "He investigated the North American Transit Authority—a private entity created exclusively by Richard Bishop and Captain Miller to embezzle federal infrastructure grants. The only arrests made were Bishop-owned shell companies and corrupt public officials. The Castell infrastructure remains entirely untouched."

Lucchese picked up the documents, his eyes darting across the audited bank transfers and federal indictments. His face paled as he realized the depth of the trap Bishop had been digging—not just for Roman, but for every family seated at the table.

"Bishop was planning to use the Transit Authority to seize the southern trucking corridors next month, Vince," Tessa continued smoothly. "Your corridors. If Roman hadn't allowed him to spring the trap on Castell ground, your family would have been facing federal asset forfeiture by Thanksgiving."

Silence fell over the room. Salvatore Moretti slowly leaned back into his chair, a dry, approving smile spreading across his weathered face.

"You always had the sharpest mind in this city, Miss Hayes," Moretti murmured, nodding slowly. "Richard Bishop was an arrogant fool. He thought he was playing chess against a soldier, forgetting that the soldier had a grandmaster standing behind him."

The old boss looked at Roman. "The commission recognizes the Castell family's sole dominion over the Bishop shipping lanes, the lakefront terminals, and the northern transit lines. But there is the question of the seat itself. The commission requires stability. An unattached boss is a volatile boss. That was why the Bishop alliance was mandated in the first place."

Roman reached out across the table. His hand did not rest on his weapon. It closed over Tessa’s hand, his long fingers intertwining with hers in plain view of every boss in Chicago.

"The alliance is already secured, Salvatore," Roman declared, his voice ringing with absolute finality. "There will be no more political matches. No more forced contracts. Tessa Hayes is not my director anymore."