“Alexander is still alive,” Marcus said. “His heart is still beating.”

“For how long?” Luca sneered.

I heard the sound of ice clinking against a crystal glass.

“The doctor says he won’t last the night,” Luca continued, his footsteps pacing the floorboards. “The family needs a leader. The streets are already getting restless.”

“The board will not recognize this signature without Alexander’s personal seal,” Marcus said.

“They will recognize whatever I tell them to recognize,” Luca said.

I took a slow, silent breath and leaned my head closer to the gap in the door.

Through the narrow opening, I could see Marcus sitting behind the massive walnut desk.

His hands were folded neatly in front of him on the leather blotter.

Luca stood over him, holding a thick black fountain pen out toward him.

Santo was standing near the fireplace, his hand resting casually on the grip of the pistol tucked into his waistband.

“You have two choices, counselor,” Luca said.

He tapped the metal tip of the pen against the paper on the desk.

“You sign the power of attorney over to me,” Luca said. “Or Santo takes you for a long drive.”