By ten o'clock the following morning, the Grand Hall of the Ferrante estate had been transformed into the supreme chamber of the Italian syndicate.
Twelve oak chairs were arranged in a wide horseshoe around a central dais. The high arched windows were covered with dark velvet drapes, and armed Ferrante guards stood silent and motionless at five-metre intervals along the perimeter.
At the centre of the horseshoe table sat Petyr Morozov, his broad frame dressed in a charcoal Russian suit, his hands resting flat on the polished mahogany.
Beside him stood Inquisitor Silvio, holding the heavy leather ledger of the Grand Council.
Nico sat at the head of the Ferrante delegation table, wearing a tailored black Don's suit. His posture was rigid, his eyes scanning the room calmly. Beside him sat Mara, wearing an elegant high-collared gown of deep midnight silk that draped gracefully over her pregnant bump.
