I watched a terrified little girl covered in blood run straight past armed bodyguards and grab the sleeve of the most feared mafia boss in Chicago. Everyone expected him to throw her out—or worse—but when she cried, "They're beating my mama," the coldest man in the city did something that left every person in that restaurant frozen in disbelief.

By midnight, the heavy oak conference room in the basement of my estate was filled with the acrid smell of expensive cigars and cold ambition.

Seated around the massive mahogany table were my four remaining capos—the ruthless veterans who controlled the four quadrants of Chicago: North, South, West, and the Docks. They were powerful, wealthy, and dangerously comfortable. They had spent the last five years enjoying the peace and prosperity my iron-fisted rule had secured for them.

When I walked in, the low murmur of conversation instantly died. Not a single man stood up—because they didn't have to; they knew my presence alone commanded absolute obedience. But I could see the restless energy in their eyes, the quiet whispers behind my back about my sudden departure from the Golden Palm earlier that evening.

I took my seat at the head of the table, resting my hands flat on the polished wood.

“You called an emergency council meeting at midnight, Vincent,” Dante Moretti, my South Side capo, spoke up first. He was a slick, ambitious man with a diamond pinky ring and a smirk that barely hid his underlying arrogance. “Half my crews were in the middle of a lucrative shipment run when your men pulled them off the streets. This better be good.”

I didn't answer immediately. I let the silence stretch, letting the weight of my gaze settle over each man until Dante’s smirk began to falter.

“Julian Rossi is back,” I said softly.

The room went dead silent.

Dante blinked, feigning surprise. “Julian? I thought we buried that rat years ago. Are you sure?”

“He’s operating out of an abandoned meatpacking plant on the western edge of Cicero,” I continued, my voice unnervingly calm. “Earlier tonight, his men broke into an apartment on 4th and Elm and assaulted a civilian woman and a child.”

A murmur rippled through the table.

“A civilian?” another capo scoffed, shaking his head. “Vincent, with all due respect, you pulled us out of our beds at midnight over a street-level domestic dispute? Let the local cops handle it. We’ve got billion-dollar shipping contracts to manage.”

The sheer idiocy of his words hung in the air like foul smoke.

I slowly stood up from my chair. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't slam my fist on the table. I simply walked around the mahogany surface until I was standing directly behind Dante Moretti’s chair.

Dante stiffened, his eyes darting sideways toward the door where Marcus stood with his hand resting near his holster.

“It wasn't a domestic dispute, Dante,” I whispered into his ear. “The woman he targeted was his own half-sister. And the child he terrified... walked straight into the Golden Palm and asked me for help.”

“Even so—” Dante started, trying to maintain his bravado.

Bang!

I slammed my palm down onto the table with a force that rattled the crystal water pitchers. Every man in the room flinched.

“Julian Rossi didn't just attack a civilian!” I roared, the suppressed fury of thirty years finally breaking through the surface. “He violated my territory! He targeted a woman under my protection! And worse than that... he thought he could test my patience while I was sitting in my own city!”

Dante swallowed hard, his face turning pale. “V-Vincent, nobody’s questioning your authority. We just thought—”

“You didn't think!” I interrupted, my voice dropping back into a freezing, lethal register. “You’ve gotten soft. You think because the streets have been quiet for five years that the crown is yours to share. Let me remind you why none of you dared look me in the eye when I took this throne.”

I pulled my Sig Sauer from its holster, laying it deliberately across the center of the table, right in front of Dante’s chest.

“By dawn,” I commanded, looking around the table at the pale, sweating faces of my capos, “every warehouse, every dock, and every street corner controlled by Julian Rossi will be burning to the ground. You will take every man, every weapon, and every vehicle we have. You will hunt down his crew like dogs.”

I leaned in close to Dante, my eyes locking onto his with absolute, terrifying menace.

“And if anyone hesitates... if anyone fails to bring me Julian Rossi’s head on a silver platter... I won't just kill them. I’ll make sure their entire bloodline is wiped from the history books of Chicago.”