Chapter 3 - THE VELVET SLAUGHTER
The Velvet Lounge was packed with Chicago's corrupt elite. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, throwing shimmering light over politicians, corrupt police captains, and high-ranking members of the Moretti crime family.
At the center VIP table sat Marcus Vance. Dressed in a tailored white tuxedo, sipping $1,000 champagne, he grinned as he clinked glasses with Don Carmine Moretti—an elderly, ruthless mob boss with a face like tanned leather.
"To the future," Marcus laughed, his voice loud and arrogant. "The South Side is ours. No one stands in our way."
BOOM!
The massive oak double doors at the entrance of the lounge didn't just open—they blew off their hinges, splintering into thousands of sharp wooden shrapnel pieces that rained down over the velvet carpets. The music stopped instantly. Screams echoed across the floor as high-society guests scrambled for cover.
Through the heavy smoke walked Cole Ashworth.
Beside him stepped Moose, the giant Mastiff snorted, his deep chest rumbling with a ferocious, terrifying growl. Behind Cole stood ten heavily armed men, their automatic weapons held at low ready.
Marcus dropped his champagne flute. The glass shattered against the marble floor. His face turned as white as his tuxedo.
"C-Cole?" Marcus stuttered, standing up so fast his chair flipped over. "Cole... you're... you're back in town?"
Cole didn't answer immediately. He walked slowly, unhurriedly, through the center of the grand ballroom. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before him. Security guards hired by the Moretti family reached for their shoulder holsters, but before a single weapon could be cleared, Viktor and Cole’s men efficiently fired muffled rounds, dropping three guards to the carpet instantly.
Panicking erupted. The wealthy patrons fled through the side exits, leaving only Marcus, Don Moretti, and six inner-circle enforcers in the VIP section.
"Cole, wait! Listen to me!" Marcus cried out, sweat pouring down his forehead, soaking his silk collar. "It's a misunderstanding! I can explain everything!"
Cole reached the VIP table. He pulled out a leather chair, turned it around, and sat down calmly, resting his arms on the backrest. Moose settled at his right hand, his teeth bared, saliva dripping onto the Persian rug.
"Explain what, Marcus?" Cole asked, his voice smooth, terrifyingly soft. "Explain how my mother lost her home? Or explain how two million dollars of my money ended up paying for that white suit you're wearing?"
Don Carmine Moretti narrowed his eyes, leaning forward on his silver-headed cane. "Ashworth. You're out of your territory. This is Moretti land now. You don't walk into my partner's club and start shooting my men."
Cole didn't even look at the old Don. His eyes remained locked on Marcus Vance, who was shaking so hard he had to hold onto the table to stand.
"Carmine," Cole said quietly. "You have thirty seconds to take your men and walk out that door. If you stay, you die here tonight. This isn't business. This is family."
"You threatening me, boy?" Carmine growled, gesturing to his four remaining bodyguards, who pointed their guns directly at Cole's head. "I own this city's police. I own the docks. You're nothing but a glorified pawn shop owner who got lucky!"
Cole slowly raised his wrist and looked at his steel watch.
"Ten seconds," Cole murmured.
"Kill him!" Carmine screamed.
Before the bodyguards could pull their triggers, Moose launched himself forward like an unstoppable black monster. The 130-pound dog slammed directly into Carmine's chief bodyguard, tearing his throat out in a brutal split-second strike. At the exact same moment, Viktor rained suppressed fire into the remaining three guards, dropping them cold before their bodies even hit the floor.
Carmine Moretti gasped, staggering backward, clutching his chest as he realized the sheer speed and brutality of the force he had challenged.
"Time's up, Carmine," Cole said, finally turning his gray eyes onto the old Don. "Leave."
Carmine, pale and trembling, backed away slowly, leaving Marcus standing entirely alone in the center of the ruined club.
"Cole... please!" Marcus sobbed, falling to his knees on the champagne-soaked floor. He grabbed at Cole's trousers. "We were brothers! We grew up together! I made a mistake, the gambling... the debt... they were going to kill me, Cole!"
Cole stood up slowly, looking down at the man he had once called a brother.
"You let my mother freeze," Cole whispered, his voice cracking with pure, concentrated hatred. "You stole her home. You made her think I abandoned her."
Cole reached inside his coat, pulled out a heavy black steel pistol, and pressed the cold barrel directly against Marcus Vance's forehead.
"Cole... please... mercy..." Marcus wept, wetting his pants right there on the floor.
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"Mercy is for human beings," Cole said softly. "You're a parasite."
BANG.
