Chapter 6 - The Cleansing Fire
By 11:00 PM, the grand ballroom of Blackwood Manor—designed to host a lavish celebration of unity—had been converted into a tribunal.
The guests had long since been escorted off the property under heavy guard, their phones confiscated until security could verify who among them had been compromised by Rafael’s faction.
Camille sat tied to a wooden chair in the center of the polished parquet floor, her designer gown ruined, her makeup streaked with tears. Across from her, Rafael sat in a steel wheelchair, his wounded shoulder throbbing under the glare of overhead spotlights.
Matteo stood at the head of the room, leaning against a billiards table, holding a glass of scotch.
Tessa stepped forward, placing a thick stack of printed financial ledgers and decrypted emails onto the table in front of him.
“We cleared the server banks in Rafael’s office,” Tessa reported, her voice clipped and professional. “We found the wire transfers from the offshore accounts. Every shell company, every bribe paid to federal investigators to close Sofia’s case prematurely, and every communication between Rafael and Camille planning your assassination.”
Matteo didn't look at the papers. He kept his dark, unblinking gaze locked on the two traitors who had thought they could outsmart him.
“Rafael,” Matteo said softly. “You said I kept all the crown jewels for myself.”
Rafael raised his head, bloodshot eyes glaring defiance. “You did. You ran the syndicate like a king surrounded by peasants.”
“If you had asked me for half the empire, I would have given it to you,” Matteo replied, his voice devoid of anger, carrying only a profound, heavy disappointment. “Because I trusted you. But you didn't want the empire. You wanted my blood.”
He turned his gaze toward Camille, who began to sob uncontrollably, shaking her head.
“Matteo, please—he forced me! Rafael threatened my family, he said if I didn't help him, he’d expose my brother’s debts—!”
“Stop talking, Camille,” Matteo interrupted, his voice dropping an octave so cold it froze the air in the room. “You spent three months practicing your grieving widow face in the mirror. You chose the date. You chose the car. Don't insult my intelligence by blaming someone else now.”
He took a slow sip of his scotch, the amber liquid burning his throat.
“Tessa,” Matteo commanded.
“Boss?”
“Contact federal prosecutor Vance. Tell him we have an anonymous tip regarding the unsolved homicide of Sofia Serrano five years ago, along with a complete, cryptographically signed confession from the perpetrators.”
Rafael’s eyes widened in sheer terror. “You’re handing us over to the Feds? Matteo, you can’t—we’ll spend the rest of our lives in a federal supermax!”
“No,” Matteo corrected, stepping away from the billiards table. “A federal supermax is too merciful for what you did. But the families of the men you framed, the rivals you manipulated, and the federal task force that’s been hunting you for a decade? They’ll find plenty of ways to keep you company.”
He gestured to the two armed enforcers standing near the door.
May you like
“Take them down to the lower holding cells. Wait for the federal marshals at midnight.”
As Rafael and Camille were dragged screaming and kicking from the ballroom, the heavy oak doors closed behind them with a definitive, echoing slam.
