Chapter 6 - THE EMPTY CHAIR
The restaurant was called Santoro’s.
No clever name.
No disguise.
Dominic’s grandfather had opened it in 1954 with twelve tables, one kitchen, and enough borrowed money to terrify his grandmother.
By 1998, the restaurant occupied three adjoining buildings.
Dominic had celebrated birthdays there.
His father’s retirement dinner had been held there.
His mother’s funeral reception too.
And at 7:45 p.m. on Tuesday, Vincent Santoro intended to use it to take the family from him.
Nora did not belong there.
Every instinct told her that.
So did Antonio.
“This is not a household dinner,” he told her.
They stood in the townhouse foyer while Dominic buttoned his coat one-handed.
Nora looked toward him.
“He asked me to come.”
Antonio sighed.
“That does not make it sensible.”
“No.”
Dominic finished the button.
“It makes it my decision.”
Antonio frowned.
“Dominic.”
“She stays outside the room.”
Nora crossed her arms.
“That sounds familiar.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You ignored me last time.”
“Correct.”
Something almost warm passed between them.
Antonio noticed.
He said nothing.
At 8:03 p.m., Dominic entered Santoro’s.
The dining room contained one long table.
Twelve captains.
Vincent at the far end.
And one empty chair at the head.
Dominic’s chair.
No one stood.
That was deliberate.
Dominic saw it.
So did Nora from the doorway.
Vincent looked nearly enough like Dominic to remind people they shared blood.
Same dark hair.
Same Santoro eyes.
But Vincent smiled more easily.
Especially when he believed he was winning.
“Cousin.”
Dominic removed his coat.
“Vincent.”
“You came.”
“You sound disappointed.”
Several captains shifted.
Dominic walked toward the head chair.
Vincent didn’t move.
“This meeting was called to discuss leadership.”
Dominic pulled the chair back.
“Then somebody should probably invite the leader.”
He sat.
That forced the first choice.
Paul Caruso looked down.
Anthony Russo crossed his arms.
Frank Bellini watched everyone.
Vincent smiled.
“This is exactly the problem.”
Dominic glanced at him.
“What?”
“You still think a chair makes you capable.”
Dominic leaned back.
“No. Men willing to follow me do.”
Vincent’s smile vanished.
“Are they?”
Silence.
There it was.
The question Vincent had spent four months preparing.
Dominic looked around the table.
He knew every face.
He knew whose children had needed college tuition.
Whose brother had been arrested.
Whose restaurant had nearly closed during the pandemic.
Who had lied to him.
Who had bled for him.
Who had been waiting to see whether his right hand would stop shaking.
Dominic placed that hand openly on the table.
It trembled.
No attempt to hide it.
Vincent’s eyes dropped toward it.
Dominic saw satisfaction.
“Four months ago,” Dominic said, “I was shot.”
Nobody spoke.
“I lost strength in this hand. Some days it works. Some days it doesn’t.”
Vincent interrupted.
“And leadership requires—”
Dominic raised his left hand.
Vincent stopped.
“You’ll get your turn.”
That mattered.
The room noticed.
Dominic continued.
“For four months, I’ve behaved as if the injury itself was the danger.”
His eyes moved around the table.
“It wasn’t.”
He gestured toward Nora.
She entered carrying a velvet-lined silverware case.
Every captain looked confused.
Nora placed it on the table.
Opened it.
Inside were two forks.
Dominic picked up the first.
“Family silver.”
Then the second.
“Heavier version.”
He passed both to Frank.
Frank passed them along.
One by one, the men felt the difference.
Paul Caruso frowned.
Anthony Russo stopped smiling.
Dominic watched their reactions.
“For six formal dinners, someone replaced my normal fork with this.”
Vincent laughed.
“You called us here over silverware?”
“No.”
Dominic looked directly at him.
“You called them here because of silverware.”
The room changed.
Vincent’s face remained calm.
But barely.
Dominic continued.
“You needed them watching my hand.”
He looked toward Anthony.
“Did you talk about it after dinner?”
Anthony shifted.
Dominic didn’t wait.
“Paul?”
Paul stared at the fork.
“I mentioned it.”
“To Vincent?”
Silence.
Dominic smiled without humor.
“Of course.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“This proves nothing.”
Dominic nodded.
“You’re right.”
Vincent seemed surprised.
Dominic continued.
“So let’s talk about the warehouse.”
That erased Vincent’s smile.
Frank watched him closely.
Dominic saw it.
“Someone paid Danny Costello to arrange a staged ambush.”
No one moved.
“Shots into walls. Fear. Nothing more.”
Dominic’s eyes remained on Vincent.
“But that morning, somebody changed the instruction.”
Vincent laughed.
“You believe a dead bookmaker?”
“I believe someone murdered him after he talked.”
“You have proof?”
“No.”
Vincent spread his hands.
“Then we’re done.”
“No.”
Dominic looked toward the door.
Carlo entered.
Beside him walked a thin man in a brown jacket.
Vincent went white.
Nora did not recognize him.
Frank did.
“Eddie Marks.”
Vincent stood.
Dominic watched him.
Eddie Marks had disappeared the week after Dominic’s shooting.
Everyone assumed he had fled gambling debts.
He had not.
Frank had found him hiding with relatives in Pennsylvania after Nora’s clue forced them to reconstruct Danny Costello’s final weeks.
Eddie had driven the supposed shooter to the warehouse.
And Eddie had heard the phone call changing the instructions.
Vincent stared at him.
“You stupid—”
Dominic’s voice cut through the room.
“Finish that sentence.”
Vincent stopped.
Eddie’s hands shook.
Dominic asked, “Who called?”
Eddie swallowed.
“Vincent.”
The captains erupted.
Vincent stood.
“He’s lying.”
Eddie continued.
“He said no warning shots. Said Mr. Santoro needed to go down for real.”
Anthony Russo pushed back from the table.
Vincent looked toward him.
“Anthony.”
Anthony shook his head.
“You told me the shooting was rivals.”
“It was.”
“No.”
Frank stood.
“You used us.”
Vincent’s control fractured.
“You think he can keep this family alive?”
He pointed at Dominic’s hand.
“Look at him!”
Every man did.
Dominic’s hand shook.
Dominic did not hide it.
Vincent continued.
“He can’t even eat dinner without help.”
Nora felt anger rise.
Dominic looked at her.
Just once.
Then back toward Vincent.
“My hand is injured.”
His voice was calm.
“My judgment isn’t.”
Vincent laughed.
“You let Sebastian manipulate you for months.”
“That’s true.”
The room went silent again.
Vincent had expected denial.
Dominic gave him none.
“I trusted someone I loved,” Dominic said.
His voice tightened slightly.
“I was wrong.”
He looked at the captains.
“If you need a leader who never makes a mistake, find another family.”
Nobody moved.
“But if you want one who can recognize a mistake before it destroys everybody beneath him, sit down.”
Frank sat first.
Then Paul.
Then Antonio, though he had never moved far.
Anthony hesitated.
Vincent stared at him.
“Don’t.”
Anthony sat.
One by one, every captain followed.
Until Vincent remained the only man standing.
His face emptied.
Dominic looked at the chair beside him.
“Sit.”
Vincent’s lips tightened.
“You think this is over?”
“No.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“I think your part of it is.”
Vincent reached inside his jacket.
Carlo moved instantly.
So did three others.
But Dominic did not reach for a weapon.
He simply stared at his cousin.
Vincent’s hand stopped.
For one long second, the room seemed balanced on the smallest movement.
Then Vincent slowly removed—
A phone.
He smiled.
“You should answer yours.”
Dominic’s phone rang.
So did Nora’s.
Nora looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
A photograph appeared.
Mia.
Standing outside her school.
Taken that morning.
Nora’s blood turned cold.
A message followed.
THE GIRL WAS EASY TO FIND ONCE.
Dominic rose.
Vincent smiled.
“You really think I built this alone?”
Dominic stared at him.
Vincent’s voice lowered.
May you like
“There’s somebody in your house you still trust.”
Then every light in Santoro’s went out.
