Chapter 7 - The Wedding of Ashes
The grand ballroom erupted into polite applause as Marco Vane pushed the heavy leather wheelchair through the double doors and toward the head table.
Nico sat slumped in the chair, a dark blanket draped over his knees, his chin resting slightly against his chest.
Camille glided over, her white lace gown rustling softly, a triumphant, fake tear shimmering in her eye as she leaned down to touch Nico’s shoulder.
“Oh, Nico,” she purred loudly enough for the front row of guests to hear. “You look so tired, darling. Don't worry... once you sign the proxy documents, I’ll take care of everything for the rest of our lives.”
Senator Ashcroft stood up at the microphone, adjusting his gold rimmed glasses.
“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues,” the Senator announced smoothly, his voice booming over the loudspeakers. “Today marks a historic unification between the Ashcroft family and the Alfieri logistics empire. Due to Mr. Nico Alfieri’s ongoing health struggles, he has graciously agreed to surrender full executive voting rights to my daughter and our joint board.”
Marco laid the thick legal contract on the table in front of Nico, opening it to the signature page. He thrust a heavy fountain pen into Nico’s limp right hand.
“Sign right here, boss,” Marco whispered in his ear, his fingers pressing heavily against Nico’s shoulder. “Just write your name and it’s all over.”
Nico didn't move.
The room grew quiet.
“Nico?” Camille prompted, a sharp edge cracking through her sweet tone. “Sign the paper.”
Nico slowly lifted his head. The dull, vacant look in his eyes vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying brilliance that made Marco’s hand freeze on his shoulder.
Nico looked at the fountain pen in his fingers.
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he snapped the solid gold pen in half, letting the black ink drip onto the white contract.
Gasps echoed through the ballroom.
“Nico! What are you doing?!” Camille shrieked.
Nico didn't answer her. He reached up, grabbed Marco’s wrist—the wrist resting on his shoulder—and twisted it backward with bone-crushing force.
Marco let out a strangled scream, dropping to his knees as Nico threw the blanket off his lap.
And then, before fifty stunned state leaders, news reporters, and mob captains, Nico Alfieri stood up.
He didn't stumble. He didn't lean on the table. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and lethal, towering over his kneeling lieutenant.
The ballroom went deathly silent. Someone dropped a wine glass, the crash echoing like a gunshot.
“Nico... your... your legs—” Senator Ashcroft stammered, stepping back from the podium, his face turning the color of ash.
“My legs are fine, Senator,” Nico’s voice boomed through the ballroom, echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “It turns out that when you stop drinking the thallium and neurotoxins my loving fiancée has been slipping into my nightly injections, the human body recovers quite nicely.”
Camille turned ghostly white. “That’s... that’s a lie! He’s insane! He’s had a mental breakdown!”
Nico pulled a small remote control from his pocket and pressed a button.
Behind the head table, the massive twenty-foot presentation screen flickered to life.
Instantly, high-definition audio and video roared through the ballroom speakers.
“Make sure the dosage is doubled before Friday,” Camille’s voice echoed clearly over the speakers, accompanied by crisp video of her standing in the estate pharmacy pantry handing a glass bottle to Marco. “I want him so weak he can’t even hold a pen when my father takes the stage. Once the contract is signed, we move him to the Swiss house and let his lungs stop.”
The room erupted into absolute chaos.
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Rival bosses shouted, politicians scrambled toward the exits, and news photographers began furiously snapping photos of the massive screen displaying lab toxicology reports bearing the official seal of the Illinois State Crime Lab.
“Security!” Senator Ashcroft screamed into the microphone, his hands shaking violently. “Shut it off! Clear the room! Kill the feed!”
