Chapter 10 - Mama Nina's Rosary of Fire
By dawn, the storm had completely spent its fury over Long Island.
A pale, breathtaking sunrise broke over the Atlantic Ocean, painting the low-hanging clouds in shades of rose, amber, and brilliant gold.
On the concrete apron beneath the Montauk lighthouse, twenty black SUVs bearing the seals of the High Syndicate Commission formed a massive, unbroken circle.
Surrounded by sixty heavily armed syndicate operators were Julian Delacroix and his daughter Giselle.
Julian sat slumped on a wooden crate, his fur parka torn, his silver hair matted with mud and blood, staring down at his cuffed hands in broken, absolute defeat.
Giselle stood beside him, weeping silently, her makeup ruined, shivering in her torn tactical jumpsuit.
Standing at the center of the assembly was Don Carmine Barzini, eighty years old, leaning heavily on his carved ebony cane, flanked by the supreme arbiters of New York, New Jersey, and Philadelphia.
And standing proudly beside Don Carmine was seventy-five-year-old Mama Nina Rossi.
She held her brass cane in one hand, while her other hand held the mason jar of fig jam that Dante had recovered from the Long Island estate.
Dante and I walked down the boathouse steps, accompanied by Lily, who was wrapped in a warm blanket, leaning safely against Silvio’s broad shoulder.
Don Carmine raised his cane, gesturing toward Dante.
“Don Dante Caruso,” Carmine proclaimed, his deep, gravelly voice echoing across the ocean cliffs like a bronze bell. “The High Commission has reviewed the evidence recovered from the Palermo vault.”
Carmine pointed at Julian Delacroix.
“Julian Delacroix stands convicted of the cowardly murder of Donna Maria Caruso twenty-four years ago, the attempted assassination of Dante Caruso, and high treason against the Commission Accord of 1974.”
Carmine turned his cold gaze onto Giselle.
“And Giselle Delacroix stands convicted of attempted murder against a protected civilian and the desecration of our sacred traditions.”
Carmine looked at Mama Nina.
“Mrs. Nina Rossi,” the ancient don addressed the elderly woman with profound, unprecedented respect. “As the sacred guardian of Donna Maria’s final will, what is your judgment upon these traitors?”
Every eye in the assembly turned to the stooped, silver-haired nursemaid.
Nina looked at Julian Delacroix, then looked at Giselle.
Her tired hazel eyes were filled not with hatred, but with a deep, sorrowful pity.
“My Donna Maria was a woman of mercy,” Nina said softly, her voice carrying clearly across the silent cliffs. “She never believed that blood washes away blood. Let them live. But let them live stripped of every dollar, every diamond, and every title they stole from honest people.”
Nina raised her chin, her dignity towering over the cowering prisoners.
“Let them spend the rest of their lives in federal prison, eating stale bread and remembering that they were brought down by a jar of peasant jam and a housekeeper who refused to bow.”
Don Carmine banged his cane onto the concrete.
“So it is decreed!” Carmine shouted. “The Delacroix syndicate is hereby liquidated! All shipping docks, freight routes, and commercial assets are transferred unconditionally to the House of Caruso!”
Federal marshals stepped forward from the perimeter, taking custody of Julian and Giselle, leading them toward the awaiting transport vans.
As Giselle was pushed into the rear of the van, she looked back one final time.
She saw me standing beside Dante, wearing my mother’s rosary around my neck, Dante’s arm wrapped securely around my waist, his dark eyes glowing with fierce, unyielding devotion.
May you like
Giselle lowered her head, weeping bitterly, as the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind her forever.
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