Chapter 5 - The Inner Circle's Treachery
The descent into the Moretti estate’s underground vault felt like walking into a tomb.
The air grew heavy and damp, smelling of old concrete, gun oil, and subterranean silence. The heavy steel door stood wide open, guarded by four men in tactical gear bearing the Moretti insignia. But as I approached, I noticed something wrong: none of them were my loyal guards. They were Marcus’s men.
“Boss,” one of them grunted, stepping forward to block the entrance. “Mr. Vance said the meeting is strictly private. No bodyguards allowed inside the vault.”
I didn't blink. I didn't reach for my weapon. I just stared at him with the cold, dead eyes of a man who had nothing left to lose.
“Step aside,” I whispered.
The enforcer swallowed hard, taking an involuntary half-step back under the crushing weight of my gaze. Before he could speak again, Victor appeared from the shadows behind him, the barrel of a silenced pistol pressed firmly against the back of the man's neck.
“You were saying?” Victor rumbled.
The guards froze, their hands hovering uselessly over their holsters. I didn't waste time. I pushed past them and strode into the vault.
The cavernous underground room was lit by harsh fluorescent overheads. Rows of safety deposit boxes, racks of seized contraband, and stacks of banded cash lined the concrete walls. In the center of the room, standing beside a mahogany table with a glass of scotch in his hand, was Marcus Vance.
He wore his signature charcoal suit, perfectly tailored, and on his right ring finger, catching the harsh white light, was the heavy silver ring with the cracked emerald.
Marcus didn't turn around immediately. He took a slow sip of his scotch, swirling the amber liquid before setting the glass down with a soft clink.
“I was wondering when you’d show up, Luca,” Marcus said smoothly, finally turning to face me. A thin, predatory smile played on his lips. “Word on the street is your son is down to his last few days. A tragedy, really. Such a bright kid.”
I stopped ten feet away from him, my hands resting casually inside my coat pockets, my fingers wrapped around the grip of my concealed pistol.
“You always did have a way with words, Marcus,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Ten years of loyalty. Ten years of standing by my side. And all the while, you were planning to take my seat.”
Marcus chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. “Loyalty is a currency for fools, Luca. You built this empire on fear, but fear makes men stupid. You stopped looking at the board years ago. You fell in love with Sofia, you had a kid, you went soft. You thought you could rule Chicago from a nursery.”
“You killed my wife,” I said, the words slipping out like drops of acid.
Marcus didn't even flinch. He shrugged, adjusting his cuffs. “Sofia was smart. Too smart. She started asking questions about the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands—accounts that funded my private retirement plan. She found the ledger, Luca. She was going to tell you. I couldn't let her blow up everything I spent twenty years building. So, I had Leo slip a little tasteless digitalis into her vintage Bordeaux. Simple. Clean. Looked like a heart attack.”
The rage inside me boiled over, burning so hot it turned ice-cold.
“And my son?” I snarled. “Matteo is three years old, Marcus! What threat did a toddler pose to your retirement fund?”
“He’s your heir,” Marcus replied, his smile vanishing, replaced by a mask of ruthless coldness. “As long as Matteo breathes, my claim to the Moretti throne is incomplete. A dead boss is a tragedy; a dead bloodline is an open vacancy. And by tomorrow morning, the doctors will announce that your son succumbed to the same heart condition as his mother. Nature takes its course, the syndicate rallies around me to restore order, and I take over Grayhaven and Chicago.”
Marcus raised his hand, snapping his fingers.
May you like
From behind the rows of deposit racks, six heavily armed enforcers stepped out, their assault rifles raised, leveling their barrels directly at my chest.
“It’s over, Luca,” Marcus smiled, lifting his glass of scotch once more. “Say hello to Sofia for me.”
