Chapter 14 - The Council of WolvesBy morning, every powerful man in Baltimore knew Carlo Romano had been taken alive.
By noon, they knew why.
By sunset, they gathered in the basement hall beneath Saint Bartholomew’s, where Romano decisions had been made for three generations under painted saints and bad lighting.
There were twelve chairs around the table.
Carlo’s chair remained empty.
Not out of respect.
As evidence.
Allessandro stood at the head of the room. Caleb stood behind him. Vittorio Vale sat to the left, looking ten years older than he had two days earlier. Isabella sat beside her father with bruises on her wrists and no pearls in her ears.
The captains watched her with open contempt.
A poison bride.
A failed alliance.
A liability.
Allessandro let them look.
Then he placed the evidence on the table.
The toxicology report from yesterday.
The old report from his father.
His mother’s note.
The recording of Carlo’s confession.
The room changed as each piece landed.
Men who had survived prison, wars, betrayals, and federal raids stared at the papers as if they were ghosts.
Matteo D’Angelo, the oldest captain, spoke first.
“Giovanni was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“By Carlo?”
“With help.”
Vittorio Vale closed his eyes.
Matteo looked at Isabella. “And she poisoned you?”
Isabella did not hide.
“Yes.”
Several men cursed.
Vittorio flinched as if every word struck him.
Allessandro raised a hand.
The room quieted.
“She acted under threat from Carlo’s network and Dominic’s name,” he said. “That does not make her innocent.”
Isabella’s face tightened.
“But it makes her useful.”
The captains understood that.
Useful was better than forgiven.
Matteo leaned back. “What do you want?”
Allessandro looked around the table.
“I want Carlo stripped of every holding, account, vote, property, and protection attached to the Romano name.”
A murmur rose.
“He is blood,” one captain said.
Allessandro turned to him.
“So was my father.”
Silence.
The man looked down.
Allessandro continued.
“I want every route touched by Carlo audited. Every judge he bought exposed privately, then controlled. Every man who moved for him found. If they confess, they live outside the family. If they lie, they meet the consequences.”
Matteo nodded slowly.
“And the child?”
Allessandro’s eyes sharpened.
“The child and her mother are under my protection.”
One captain scoffed.
“All this over a maid’s daughter.”
Caleb moved before Allessandro could speak.
He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him back into his chair hard enough to crack wood.
Allessandro did not stop him.
Then he leaned across the table.
“That maid’s daughter did what twelve men in this room failed to do,” he said. “She saw a traitor at my table and warned me.”
No one spoke.
“She has more honor at six years old than Carlo had in sixty.”
Matteo crossed himself.
“Amen.”
The motion spread slowly.
One by one, men who had never bowed to innocence lowered their eyes.
Isabella watched Allessandro with an expression he could not read.
Not love.
Not hope.
Something closer to shame.
The final vote took less than three minutes.
Carlo Romano was erased.
Not killed.
Erased.
His accounts frozen. His safehouses seized. His men marked. His name removed from the family ledger.
When it was done, Vittorio stood.
“My daughter will answer for what she did.”
Isabella’s eyes closed.
Allessandro looked at him. “Yes.”
Vittorio’s voice cracked. “And so will I.”
The room stirred.
Allessandro waited.
“I believed Carlo,” Vittorio said. “For ten years. I blamed Dominic for Luca. I paid debts to ghosts. I let fear turn my house into a weapon.” He looked at Isabella. “And my daughter became the blade.”
Isabella lowered her head.
For once, no performance came.
Allessandro gathered the papers.
The council was over.
The war was not.
As men rose from the table, Caleb’s phone vibrated.
He read the message.
His face darkened.
“Allessandro.”
“What?”
“Carlo’s convoy was hit.”
The room froze.
“By who?”
Caleb looked up.
“Dominic Sorrento.”
Vittorio gripped the table.
Isabella whispered, “He’s alive.”
Caleb nodded once.
“And Carlo is gone.”
Allessandro looked toward the empty chair.
The wolves had voted.
May you like
But the ghost had stolen the prisoner.
And somewhere outside the city, Carlo Romano was once again breathing borrowed air.
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