She Thought I Was Nobody at the Head Table—Then One Signet Ring Made Every Crime Family in the Ballroom Stand.

Victor stepped out of the car with his hands in his pockets, completely ignoring the ten automatic weapons trained on his chest.

Rain soaked his hair, dripping down his rugged jaw, but his eyes never left Rossi.

"Dominic," Victor said, his voice carrying clearly over the storm. "You always were too cheap to hire your own shooters. Using Moreau’s old guard to do your dirty work?"

Rossi smiled thinly, his rosy, aristocratic face smug beneath the umbrella. "They aren't Marcus's men anymore, Victor. They're on the High Council payroll. Marcus is sitting in the back of my van, tied to an iron chair with two broken ribs. And within forty minutes, the probate window closes. The Bellacorte empire becomes council property."

Celeste stepped beside Rossi, her eyes gleaming with vindictive spite. "I told you that table was for powerful men, Victor. You should have stayed in your cabin."

Victor tilted his head. "Where is the girl, Dominic?"

Rossi’s smile vanished for a split second, replaced by cold calculation. "So the little runaway told you. It doesn't matter. Once the paperwork is stamped tonight, an illegitimate orphan hidden in a convent has no legal standing under syndicate law."

"She isn't an orphan," Victor said calmly.

He raised his left hand and gave a sharp two-finger whistle.

From the tree line along the highway embankment, high-powered halogen floodlights suddenly snapped on, blinding Rossi and his men. The low, guttural roar of six diesel armored trucks echoed through the valley as dozens of men in dark raincoats racked tactical shotguns in unison.

Carlo’s heavy voice boomed through an external loudspeaker: "Drop the weapons, or we paint the asphalt with you!"

Rossi’s enforcers froze, looking around in panic as laser sights dotted their chests.

Celeste gasped, backing toward the SUV, but Julian Vance stepped out of Victor’s sedan, holding a silver High Council warrant high in the air.

"By authority of the Founding Charter," Julian projected with booming authority, "Councilman Dominic Rossi is declared an enemy of the bloodline. Any soldier who fires a weapon in his name is marked for immediate execution!"

Three of Rossi’s guards immediately lowered their rifles, taking steps back into the shadows.

"Idiots! Shoot him!" Rossi screamed, raising his pistol toward Victor.

Victor didn't wait. He closed the ten-foot distance in a fraction of a second, slapping the barrel aside as Rossi fired into the asphalt, then drove his elbow into Rossi’s jaw with crushing force.