“Don’t.”Nora Connelly’s voice cuts through his justifications like a blade.She stands, her silver hair severe against her black suit.“Don’t you dare pretend this was about the Syndicate.This was about greed.About power.About thinking you were above the codes we all swore to uphold.”
“The codes.”Giovanni laughs bitterly.“Written by men who understood that survival requires compromise.That purity is a luxury we can’t afford.”
“The codes exist because we’re not animals.”Jack squares his shoulders, his presence dominating the room.“Because we decided, as a group, that there are lines we don’t cross.Children.Women.The innocent.Those were the lines, and you didn’t just cross them.You made a fortune on the other side.”
I watch the exchange with cold satisfaction.
Jack turns to face the assembled representatives.“As presiding judge, I present the evidence against Giovanni DiLorenzo to the tribunal.”
What follows is methodical and damning.File after file displayed on the room’s screens.Financial records traced by Serena’s cyber expertise.Shipping manifests cataloging human cargo.Photographs of properties used as holding facilities.Video testimony from survivors rescued during our operations.
Through it all, Giovanni sits in silence.His face grows progressively more ashen as the weight of evidence accumulates.Whatever defenses he’d planned to mount crumble under the sheer volume of documentation.
When the presentation concludes, Jack faces the other founders.“The tribunal will now vote on the charges.Guilty or not guilty, on the first count—participation in human trafficking operations.”
“Guilty,” Nora says immediately.
“Guilty,” Frank Sullivan replies.
“Guilty,” echoes Patrick O’Connor, Maeve’s father.
George Stewart’s voice is ice.“Guilty.”
“Guilty,” booms the voice of Vittorio Todeschini.
One by one, the founders pronounce their verdict.The word repeats like a drumbeat, each iteration sealing Giovanni’s fate.
Jack’s voice is the last.“Guilty.”
The voting continues through the remaining charges.The result is unanimous on every count.
“Giovanni DiLorenzo, this tribunal finds you guilty of all charges.The sentence, as prescribed by our founding codes, is death to be delivered immediately.”
Dave rises, drawing his Sig Sauer P226.He racks the slide, chambering a round, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent chamber.
“Wait.”Giovanni’s voice cracks.For the first time since his capture, real fear shows in his eyes.“Wait.I have valuable information.”
“Nothing you say can change the verdict,” Jack replies flatly.
“I can give you the man behind Dracul.”Giovanni’s words tumble out in a rush.“The one who runs the entire operation, who ordered Martha’s murder.”
The room goes absolutely still.
My mother’s name hangs in the air like a ghost: Martha Tennant Boyle, the brilliant psychiatrist who discovered a pedophile ring and was killed for it.The identity of the man behind her murder has remained a mystery despite almost two years of investigations.
Jack’s face has gone white.“What did you say?”
Giovanni’s eyes dart between my father and Dave.“The man at the top ordered her eliminated.I know who he is.I know how to find him.”
“Spill it.”Jack’s voice is barely recognizable, raw with grief and fury.
“Only if you grant me a pardon.”Giovanni straightens slightly, some of his old negotiating instincts surfacing.“Full immunity for my crimes.Safe passage out of Syndicate territory.A chance to disappear.”
Nora Connelly laughs, devoid of humor.“You seem to think your sentence is negotiable, DiLorenzo.It isn’t.”
“I’m offering you the man who killed Jack’s wife.The man who runs the entire trafficking network.Surely that’s worth?—”
The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space.Giovanni’s head snaps back, a neat red hole appearing in the center of his forehead.He slumps forward, blood pooling on the mahogany table.
