Chapter 9 - THE TRIBUNAL
Midnight in the abandoned shipyards of South Boston. The air smelled of salt, rust, and impending violence.
The heads of the three major allied families stood in a semi-circle inside a cavernous, dimly lit warehouse. In the center, kneeling on a plastic tarp, was Marcus DeLuca. He looked pathetic—beaten, broken, his grand ambitions reduced to shivering terror.
Adrian walked into the light, his presence commanding absolute silence. He didn't yell. He didn't posture. He simply stood before his peers, the undisputed phantom king.
"Marcus DeLuca attempted a coup," Adrian stated, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel walls. "He conspired with foreign elements in Zurich to orchestrate my assassination. He attacked my home. He threatened my wife. He killed two of my most loyal men."
The family heads muttered among themselves, casting disgusted glances at Marcus. Betrayal of a boss was the highest treason; it threatened the structure they all relied upon to survive.
"Adrian, please," Marcus begged, tears streaming down his bruised face. "I was misled. The Swiss bankers, they got in my head! They offered me the world!"
"You made your choice, Marcus," Adrian said coldly. He turned to the other bosses. "The punishment for treason is death. Do any of you object?"
No one spoke.
Adrian didn't delegate the task. He drew his weapon, aimed it at Marcus's head, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was deafening in the empty warehouse.
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"Let this be understood," Adrian said, addressing the shadows where the underbosses and soldiers watched. "The structure remains. My rule is absolute. Anyone who forgets that will find themselves on a tarp next to him."
He turned and walked away, the respect and fear of the underworld heavy at his back.
