Chapter 7 - The Syndicate's Vengeance
The peace within the walls of Callaway Manor was shattered late Thursday evening by the jarring, coded chirp of the estate’s secure emergency terminal.
Reed stood in the second-floor study, staring down at the glowing red tactical map on his mahogany desk. Marco stood beside him, his face grim, his hand resting on his service weapon.
"The Italian syndicate out of Cicero," Marco reported crisply. "They’ve allied with what's left of the Miller crew. They know Clara and the children are here. They’ve caught wind that you’ve broken your isolation to harbor an unauthorized family, and they view it as a fatal chink in your armor."
Reed’s jaw locked. A cold, lethal fury ignited behind his gray eyes—the kind of terrifying wrath that had earned him the title of Chicago's untouchable kingpin.
"They think I'm vulnerable," Reed whispered, his voice dangerously low.
"They’re mobilizing a strike team," Marco warned. "They’re hitting the North Gate within the hour. They want to send a message, Boss. They want to take what's yours to prove nobody crosses the Callaway name."
Reed turned away from the desk, walking over to the heavy oak cabinet where his tactical gear and firearms were locked. He unlocked it with a biometric scanner, pulling out a custom-rigged tactical vest and strapping it over his black dress shirt with terrifying efficiency.
"Evacuate the medical wing," Reed commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Move Clara and the twins down to the reinforced underground panic shelter beneath the library. Seal the blast doors."
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"What about you?" Marco asked.
"I'm going to meet our guests at the gate," Reed said, cocking the slide of his SIG Sauer with a sharp, metallic snap. "Let’s see how brave they are when they step onto my grass."
