Chapter 6 - The Examination of the Syndicate
Nora Bennett rose from the mahogany chair, her breath catching in her throat as the temporary spell of domestic peace broke against the room's cold architecture.
The seven men in dark suits were still sitting around the long table. They had not moved. They had not spoken. They sat like gargoyles carved into the woodwork, watching the boss interact with the housekeeper and her child as if observing an alien species.
"Thank you, Mr. Calder," Nora whispered, her head bowed in deep, respectful deference as she reached for her daughter's hand. "I am deeply sorry for interrupting your work. It won't happen again. Ever."
"Take her to the kitchen, Nora," Vincent said softly, his tone dismissive yet devoid of anger. "Tell cook to give her a cinnamon roll."
Nora’s fingers closed around Lucy’s small, sticky hand, gently tugging the child toward the threshold. "Come on, Lucy. Say thank you to Mr. Calder and let’s go."
Lucy allowed herself to be turned toward the door, her fuzzy pink socks squeaking against the dark walnut floorboards. But instead of walking straight out into the grand hallway, the three-year-old stopped dead in her tracks near the center of the Persian rug.
She had noticed something that her initial rage against the dog had caused her to overlook.
Holding Captain Carrot securely by his good ear, Lucy turned her blonde head slowly, her big blue eyes traveling across the length of the long table.
She looked at Frankie Vitucci, who was sweating through his charcoal collar. She looked at Sal, whose massive fists were clenched flat on the wood. She looked at Marco, who had not blinked for three minutes. She observed their dark clothes, their hunched shoulders, their cold, terrified silence, and the way none of them dared to look her in the eye.
To an adult, they looked like dangerous predators caught in a delicate social paralysis.
To a three-year-old child who had just witnessed an animal being sent to the hearth for bad behavior, their posture was unmistakable.
Lucy pointed her little hand toward the seven grown men seated in a row. Her face was entirely serious, her childish voice ringing with earnest curiosity.
"Were they bad too?" Lucy asked.
Nora’s heart stopped. She gasped, her fingers tightening on Lucy’s wrist, her eyes darting in sheer horror toward Vincent. "Lucy, hush! Right now!"
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Across the table, the effect of the child’s question was devastating.
Frankie Vitucci’s jaw dropped. Sal’s knuckles whitened until the bone showed through the skin. Marco leaned back slightly, his eyes darting toward the floor as though he were suddenly afraid of being struck by lightning. Not a single man breathed. They sat frozen under the innocent, devastating gaze of a child in yellow pajamas, waiting for the ceiling to collapse.
