Chapter 6 - The Bloodlines of Chicago
Friday night arrived in a flurry of icy rain and blinding fog.
The Palmer House Hilton in downtown Chicago was a monument to Gilded Age grandeur—magnificent crystal chandeliers, gold-leaf ceilings, and velvet-draped balconies overlooking the grand ballroom.
Tonight, the ballroom was filled with three hundred of the most powerful people in the Midwest: corrupt politicians, shipping tycoons, union bosses, and high-society donors.
Vincent Moretti stood near the mahogany bar on the second-floor balcony, holding a glass of scotch. He wore a crisp white tuxedo jacket, surrounded by eight armed heavy hitters disguised as private security guards.
Down on the floor, the music played softly.
At 8:30 PM, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open.
Levi Marconi stepped inside.
The music didn't stop, but the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Levi wore a midnight-black tuxedo, looking imposing, dominant, and completely untouched by age or illness. Beside him walked Sal Ruso and six elite Marconi enforcers in matching dark suits.
Up on the balcony, Vincent’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure hatred. He motioned to his lead enforcer, Marco.
"Look at him," Vincent hissed. "He looks like a bull. Whitmore lied to us. The poison was never administered."
"What do we do, Boss?" Marco asked, reaching under his coat for his suppressed firearm. "The floor is crawling with federal agents and city officials."
"We stick to the backup plan," Vincent sneered. "During the Chairman's speech at 9:00 PM, the lights in the main breaker room will cut for ninety seconds. You put three rounds in Marconi’s chest during the panic, drop the untraceable firearm, and we slip out through the kitchen exit."
Down on the floor, Levi accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing waiter. He didn't drink it. His eyes swept the room, taking in every exit, every security camera, and every shadow on the balcony.
"Sal," Levi murmured, his lips barely moving. "Is the perimeter secure?"
"Maya just checked in from the Naperville bunker," Sal reported quietly through his hidden earpiece. "Claire and Natalie are locked in tight. No electronic activity, no tracking signals. They’re safe."
"Good," Levi said. "Where is Vincent?"
"Balcony, two o’clock," Sal said. "He’s got eight men with him. They’ve bypassed the front metal detectors using forged Port Commission credentials."
"Let them think they have the upper hand," Levi said, stepping toward the center of the room.
At 8:55 PM, the Chairman of the Midwest Port Commission took the podium at the front of the stage. The crowd gathered, clapping politely as the microphone chimed.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the Chairman began. "Tonight, we celebrate forty years of economic growth across our great city’s waterways..."
Above, in the electrical control room of the hotel, an Apex operative hired by Moretti stepped up to the main power grid breaker.
He pulled out a heavy steel wrench and jammed it into the master transformer.
CRACKLE! SNAP!
Sparks erupted in a violent shower.
The massive crystal chandeliers flickered once, twice, and died completely.
The grand ballroom dropped into pitch-black darkness.
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Screams rang out from the high-society crowd. Panic erupted instantly as people surged toward the exits, knocking over champagne tables and chairs.
Up on the balcony, Vincent drew his weapon, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Move! Kill the Wolf!"
