Chapter 7 - The Boardroom and the Tea Party
By Thursday afternoon, the Castalano estate had descended into an alternate universe that left the entire domestic staff and security division in a state of suspended shock.
The grand dining table in the formal hall, which had previously hosted governors, corrupt port commissioners, and syndicate capos planning territorial wars, had been temporarily repurposed. At the head of the table sat Mia, wearing a fresh dress of sunflower-yellow cotton, her high bun tied with red satin ribbons, a silver fork clutched in her fist as she diligently mashed an almond pastry into a porcelain plate.
And sitting directly to her right, in his tailored black suit with his sleeves rolled up, was Vincent Castalano.
He was reviewing a stack of real estate deeds with his right hand while his left hand was being used as an anchor for a plastic pink teacup. Mia had insisted that the "grumpy bear" needed his tea, and Vincent, to the absolute horror and fascination of his inner circle, had simply picked up the miniature cup with two scarred fingers and pretended to sip lukewarm apple juice with complete, stony-faced dignity.
Renzo walked into the dining hall, followed by two senior capos from the Brooklyn docks—rough, heavy-set men with broken noses, thick leather coats, and nervous eyes. They had arrived for a scheduled briefing regarding a disputed shipping container in Red Hook.
The two capos froze in the doorway, their jaws practically hitting the marble floorboards.
"Don Castalano...?" one of the men croaked, his eyes darting frantically from Vincent’s grim, bearded face to the toddler currently wiping crumbs on the Don's custom cufflink.
"Sit down, Frank," Vincent said without looking up from his papers. "Speak softly. The boss is having her afternoon snack."
Frank looked at Renzo, who merely shook his head with an expression that said don't ask, just sit. The two hardened criminals took their seats at the far end of the thirty-foot table, moving their chairs with agonizing care so as not to make the wood scrape against the floor.
"The... the union stewards at Pier 42 are refusing to clear the freight," Frank stammered, pulling a sweat-stained handkerchief from his pocket. "They’re claiming the manifests don't match the manifests from Naples. If we don't grease the commissioner by tonight, the feds will seize the dock."
Vincent didn't answer immediately. He picked up his gold pen, his eyes cold as ice. "Tell the commissioner that if his inspectors step on my pier before seven in the morning, his private offshore accounts in the Bahamas will be forwarded to the district attorney's desk."
"Yes, Don Vincent," Frank whispered, nodding rapidly.
"No!" Mia shouted suddenly, slamming her plastic teacup down on the table with an authoritative clatter.
Every grown man in the room flinched. Frank instinctively reached for his waistband before remembering where he was.
Mia pointed her little finger down the length of the table at the terrified Brooklyn capo. "You talk too loud! Grumpy bear is drinking tea!"
Frank stared at the three-year-old girl in absolute terror, his face draining of color, completely unsure whether he was permitted to breathe in her presence. He looked at Vincent with pleading, panicked eyes.
Vincent slowly set his pen down. He looked at Frank, his dark eyebrows lowering into that terrifying, trademark scowl that had preceded a dozen executions.
"You heard the boss, Frank," Vincent said, his voice deadly quiet. "You're talking too loud. Get out of my house."
The two capos scrambled out of their chairs so fast they nearly tripped over each other, bowing clumsily before fleeing the dining room like scalded cats.
May you like
Renzo leaned against the sideboard, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders heaved with silent, breathless laughter.
Across the room, standing by the pantry doors with a silver clearing tray, Clara watched the entire exchange with a mixture of awe and profound, fluttering warmth. For the first time in three years, the knot of terror in her chest had begun to loosen. She looked at the terrifying Mafia don who was currently allowing her daughter to stick a sparkly unicorn sticker onto the lapel of his four-thousand-dollar suit, and she realized, with terrifying clarity, that the monster had a heart.
