Chapter 7 - The Reckoning at the Gate
Two weeks later.
The winter snow had melted into slush, and a crisp early-spring breeze was beginning to sweep across the Chicago skyline.
At the north perimeter gate of the Greystone estate, a sleek black town car sat idling by the security checkpoint. Inside sat Salvatore Moretti himself—the aging, arrogant patriarch of the rival New York syndicate, who had foolishly believed he could walk into Chicago and dictate terms to the Romano family.
Moretti rolled down his window, chewing on an unlit cigar, glaring at the reinforced steel gates.
“What is taking so long?” Moretti snapped at his driver. “Marcus was supposed to have the updated harbor schedules ready by noon today.”
Before the driver could answer, the security intercom clicked on.
It wasn't Marcus’s voice.
It was Adrien Romano’s voice—cold, level, and carrying across the intercom speakers with absolute finality.
“Marcus isn't answering his phone today, Salvatore,” Adrien said smoothly from the comfort of his study.
Moretti stiffened, gripping the armrest of his seat. “Adrien. You’re playing a dangerous game locking me out of your shipping lanes.”
“I’m not playing any games,” Adrien replied. “In fact, I’m wrapping up a very successful audit of my estate. We found a few leaks in the plumbing. A few rats trying to chew through the wiring. We exterminated them.”
Moretti’s face paled. “You—you don't have proof of—”
“I have financial wire transfers, encrypted communication logs, and an eyewitness report drawn in purple and blue crayon,” Adrien interrupted casually. “Tell your captains in Queens that if any of their boats cross into Lake Michigan again, I won’t send a warning. I’ll send a bill for salvage.”
The intercom clicked off with a harsh static hiss.
Moretti sat frozen in the backseat of the town car for three seconds before turning to his driver with wide, terrified eyes.
May you like
“Turn the car around,” Moretti choked out. “Get us out of Chicago. Now.”
The town car threw up a cloud of wet gravel and sped away down the lane, disappearing into the gray morning mist. The Romano empire was secure. The traitor was gone. The threat was neutralized.
