Chapter 7 - The Ghost of the French Riviera
Dawn arrived in shades of bruised purple over Long Island Sound.
A knock sounded at my bedroom door.
Two female attendants entered carrying a garment bag.
Inside was a high-necked gown made of deep navy silk.
Simple.
Elegant.
Deadly.
When I stepped into the grand hall, Alessandro was waiting.
He wore a tailored black three-piece suit.
His hair was brushed back, his jaw sharp and clean-shaven.
He looked like an emperor preparing for an execution.
He held out his arm.
I hesitated, then slid my hand through his elbow.
His biceps felt like solid oak beneath the wool.
“You look like royalty,” he muttered without looking at me.
“I feel like bait,” I replied under my breath.
We descended into the underground council chamber.
The room smelled of cigar smoke, leather, and ancient secrets.
Twelve elderly men sat around a circular mahogany table.
Don Lorenzo sat at the head, his walnut cane resting between his knees.
To his left was an empty chair.
Carlo’s chair.
Across the room, Carlo sat in handcuffs, flanked by four armed guards.
His face was bruised.
His arrogant sneer was gone.
“The commission is seated,” Don Lorenzo declared, banging his cane on the stone
floor.
All eyes turned to Alessandro and me.
“Grandfather,” Alessandro spoke clearly. “I present Sophie Dubois. Legitimate
heir to Ambassador Étienne Dubois.”
Murmurs rippled through the old capos.
“She is an outsider, Alessandro!” one capo yelled. “Her father was a French
embezzler!”
“Liar!” I stepped forward before Alessandro could stop me.
I pulled the decoded ledger from under my silk shawl.
I slammed it onto the mahogany table.
The heavy sound silenced the room.
“My father Étienne Dubois was murdered by Carlo Moretti’s shell companies!”
I opened the book to the French diplomatic seal.
“Here are the wire transfers through Black Star Holdings. Eight million dollars
transferred into Swiss accounts bearing Carlo’s private signature.”
I pointed a steady finger directly at Carlo.
“He used my father’s diplomatic immunity to smuggle stolen gold and contraband
weapons through Dock Fourteen.”
“When my father refused to falsify the shipping logs, Carlo threatened to
execute me.”
My voice rang with sheer authority.
“My father fled to protect my life, not his freedom.”
The council members leaned forward, examining the ink and seals.
“These are real French consular stamps,” an old capo whispered.
“And the Fox cipher,” Don Lorenzo added, his eyes narrowing at Carlo. “The late
French attaché’s private signature.”
Carlo struggled against his chains.
“It’s a forgery! She forged it with Alessandro to steal my territory!”
Don Lorenzo raised his hand.
The room went instantly silent.
“Carlo,” the Don said quietly. “Did you hire Monsieur Laurent to burn L’Étoile
Noir last night?”
“Father, listen to me—”
“Did you?” the old man roared.
Carlo choked on his words.
“I... I had to protect our interests...”
Don Lorenzo closed his eyes.
A long, heavy breath escaped his lips.
“You brought police to our doors. You brought cameras into our business.”
The old man looked at Alessandro.
“The sentence for high treason against the family is death.”
Alessandro stepped forward.
He reached for his inner pocket.
“Wait,” I interrupted.
Everyone froze.
Alessandro looked at me, his brow furrowed in warning.
“Death is too easy for him,” I said.
Carlo glared at me with pure hatred.
“Take his money,” I commanded, looking Don Lorenzo dead in the eye. “Return the
eight million to the French humanitarian trust in Étienne Dubois’s name.”
“Strip him of the Moretti name.”
“Send him to a federal penitentiary for financial fraud.”
“Let him rot as a common felon, with no power, no family, and no legacy.”
Don Lorenzo stared at me for ten long seconds.
Then, a harsh laugh broke from his chest.
“Cold,” the old man said, nodding approvingly. “Merciless without wasting lead.
I like her.”
He slammed his cane down.
“So be it! Carlo goes to the federal marshals with this ledger.”
Two guards hauled Carlo out of the chamber.
May you like
As he was dragged past me, Carlo leaned in and whispered venomously:
“You think this is over, girl? You haven't met the Broker at Dock Fourteen yet.”
