"Was our expression of sympathy properly delivered?" Anthony Sorrell looked over at his head of security.

The man gave a small nod. "Just as you instructed, Mr. Sorrell. But Jason Morgan intercepted it before it could be brought into the chapel."

Sorrell was unfazed by the news. "That's okay. But now we know that Morgan himself received our message. It won't be long before he runs to share it with Corinthos." A grin came to Anthony Sorrell's face. "You know, I'm pretty proud of that message. Short and to the point, don't you think?"

"Right, Boss."

The unenthusiastic reply made Anthony Sorrell shake his head in despair. Just once he wished one of his men or even the men on his council would demonstrate some originality or sense of humor. To a man they were somber, humorless men.

But the Council of Nine was the best at what they did. Anthony "Fat Tony" Salerno, Salvatore "Sally Fruits" Farrugia, William "Potatoes" Daddano, Tony "Roach" Rampino, Paul "The Waiter" Ricca, Otto "Abbadabba" Berman, Tommy "3 Fingers" Brown, Anthony "Mr. Fish" Rabito, and Joseph "Joey Doves" Aiuppa made up an impressive gathering of minds the like of which could not be matched.

Certainly not by Michael Corinthos. Corinthos stood virtually alone in the defense of his territory. Anthony Sorrell had the luxury of knowing that behind him stood nine of the most powerful mob bosses alive. Stationed all throughout the world, they nonetheless stood ready to assist him at the utterance of a word.

It was not likely that Anthony "The Artist" Sorrell would ask for such assistance. Or that he would need it. Despite Sorrell's eccentric and sometime amusing demeanor, he was a cold and ruthless man. Once his sights were set upon a thing, nothing deterred him from his goal.

At the present, Anthony Sorrell's goal was the territory currently belonging to Michael Corinthos.