Chapter 6 - The Commission
The location chosen for the sit-down was a neutral ground: the basement vault of an abandoned bank in the financial district. Thick concrete walls, no cell service, and only one way in or out. It was a place designed for secrets, where the heads of the Five Families of New York gathered to carve up the city like a Thanksgiving turkey.
Elena walked down the steel staircase, her heels clicking rhythmically against the metal grates. Dominic walked beside her, his presence a heavy, comforting shield. Behind them trailed two bodyguards, though protocol dictated weapons be left at the door.
Inside the vault, a round mahogany table had been set up under a single hanging lightbulb. The four other bosses were already seated.
There was Maranzano, the old lion from the Bronx, sucking on a pipe. Lucchese, the sharp-eyed accountant who ran the gambling rings in Staten Island. Genovese, a brutal thug dressed in Armani, controlling the unions. And Colombo, the youngest of the four, a hothead who thought he was invincible.
They all stopped talking as Dominic entered. Then, their eyes shifted to Elena.
Disdain. Amusement. Disrespect. Elena read it all in their faces within a fraction of a second. They saw a young woman. They saw weakness.
“Dominic,” Maranzano grunted, gesturing to the empty chairs. “Sit. We have much to discuss. The streets are talking. They say you had a little housecleaning a few nights ago. Word is Vincent Russo is swimming with the fishes.”
“Vincent was a traitor,” Dominic said smoothly, taking his seat.
Elena remained standing behind him, her hands clasped behind her back.
“A traitor?” Colombo laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Vincent was a good earner. If you’re killing your top earners, Dominic, maybe you’re losing your touch. Maybe it’s time you retired to Florida and let someone else manage Manhattan.”
“I am not retiring,” Dominic said. “In fact, I am expanding. I am officially naming my daughter, Elena, as my Underboss. She will speak for the Ferraro family from now on.”
A heavy, stunned silence fell over the vault.
Then, Genovese scoffed. “A girl? You’re putting a girl in charge of the streets? What is this, Dominic? A joke? This is the mafia, not a diversity seminar. We don't do business with little girls.”
Elena didn't react to the insult. She stepped forward, moving out from behind her father’s shadow. She walked slowly around the table, her eyes locking onto Genovese.
“Tony Genovese,” Elena said softly. “You run the sanitation unions. Tough business. Very lucrative. Almost as lucrative as the skimming operation you’re running behind Maranzano’s back.”
Genovese froze. His face went pale. Maranzano slowly took the pipe out of his mouth, turning his predatory gaze toward Genovese.
“What did you say?” Maranzano growled.
Elena pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and tossed it onto the table. “Account numbers. Offshore shell companies in the Cayman Islands. Tony has been taking twenty percent off the top of the union dues before kicking the rest up to the Commission. He’s been stealing from all of you.”
“You lying bitch!” Genovese roared, leaping to his feet.
“Sit down, Tony,” Lucchese snapped, grabbing the paper and scanning the numbers. His eyes widened. “She’s telling the truth. The routing numbers match the dummy corps.”
Elena didn't stop there. She turned to Colombo, the young hothead.
“And you, Jimmy. You think you’re untouchable because you have the cops in Brooklyn on your payroll. But you don't know that your mistress, the blonde dancer at the Starlight Lounge, is an FBI informant. She’s been wearing a wire for three months. Everything you’ve bragged to her in bed is sitting on a federal server.”
Colombo dropped his cigar. He looked like he was going to vomit.
Elena stepped back to her father’s side, resting a hand on the back of his chair. She looked at the four most powerful men in New York, who were now sweating, terrified, and at each other’s throats.
“You look at me and you see a woman,” Elena said, her voice echoing in the concrete vault. “You look at the waitresses serving your drinks and you see nothing. You look at the drivers opening your doors and you see ghosts. But I see everything. I hear everything. The Ferraro family doesn't just own the streets anymore. We own your secrets. We own your mistakes.”
She leaned forward, planting both hands on the table.
“My father is the Don. I am the Underboss. If any of you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the FBI when I anonymously forward them the contents of this briefcase.”
She patted a leather bag resting by her feet.
The vault was dead silent. Maranzano looked at the young woman, then at Dominic. A slow, reluctant smile spread across his wrinkled face. He raised his glass of water.
May you like
“To the new Underboss,” Maranzano toasted.
One by one, the other bosses raised their glasses. They had come to the sit-down to carve up the Ferraro family. Instead, they had been conquered without a single shot being fired.
