Chapter 8 - The Penthouse MassacreThe glass-and-steel monolith of the Moretti Tower loomed against the stormy Chicago skyline like a giant obsidian monolith.
The top-floor executive penthouse—usually a sanctuary of quiet luxury, mahogany desks, and panoramic views—was now a war zone of tension.
Seven men sat around the massive conference table. They were the regional capos of the Moretti syndicate: old-guard veterans who controlled the docks, the unions, the politicians, and the drug routes.
At the head of the table sat Arthur Vance, Marcus’s uncle, a ruthless patriarch who had thought himself untouchable for decades.
"The vote is unanimous," Arthur announced, slamming his heavy gold ring against the polished mahogany table. "Adrian Moretti is stripped of his title, his assets, and his territory, effective immediately. If he resists, terminate him on sight."
"You're a bit late for a board meeting, Uncle," a cold, resonant voice echoed from the double doors of the penthouse elevator.
The heavy oak doors slid open.
Adrian Moretti walked into the room alone, his coat trailing behind him like a cape, his hands shoved casually into his trouser pockets. Behind him, the glass elevator remained empty, but the red security lights on the corridor walls flashed a silent warning.
Arthur Vance sneered, standing up from his chair. "You arrogant little bastard. You think walking in here alone saves you? You lost your empire tonight!"
"Did I?" Adrian asked smoothly. He walked right up to the edge of the conference table, pulling a heavy leather-bound ledger from his coat and slamming it down directly in front of Arthur.
Arthur’s face drained of color as he recognized the book.
"My mother's journal," Adrian said softly, his voice cutting through the silence of the room like a razor. "Along with forty years of financial records detailing every bribe, every rigged election, and every murder ordered by this table."
"Shoot him!" Arthur shrieked, panicking as the other capos began murmuring among themselves. "What are you waiting for? Kill him!"
None of the bodyguards standing around the perimeter of the room moved.
Arthur turned around, staring wildly at his head of security. "I gave you an order! Shoot him!"
The head of security calmly unclipped his holster, laid his pistol on the sideboard, and stepped back. "We work for the Moretti family, Mr. Vance. Not the past."
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Adrian smiled, a cold, humorless expression that sent a shiver through every hardened criminal in the room.
"The syndicate is dead, gentlemen," Adrian announced, resting both hands on the back of Arthur’s empty chair. "Starting tonight, we operate under a new name. And anyone who doesn't agree is welcome to join Marcus in the river."
