Chapter 7 - The Iron Wolf Hunts
In the pitch-black chaos of the ballroom, ordinary men panicked.
Levi Marconi was not an ordinary man.
The moment the lights went out, Levi pulled a pair of lightweight night-vision tactical lenses from his tuxedo pocket and slipped them over his eyes. The room instantly transformed into a crisp, green-hued tactical battlefield.
Through the green glow, Levi saw Marco and three Moretti hitmen vaulting over the balcony railing, dropping onto the velvet carpet below, weapons raised.
"Clear the civilians!" Levi barked into his comms.
Sal and his men moved with lethal, practiced precision. They pushed the screaming senators and donors behind the heavy marble pillars, creating a clear field of fire.
Marco pointed his suppressed pistol toward the spot where Levi had been standing three seconds ago.
Before Marco could pull the trigger, Levi emerged from the shadows like a phantom.
He grabbed Marco’s wrist, twisting it violently until the bone shattered. Marco screamed, dropping the gun. Levi drove his elbow directly into Marco’s jaw, knocking the brute unconscious before he hit the floor.
The second hitman swung his weapon around, but Levi kicked the man’s knee inward, breaking the joint, and slammed his head into a solid marble pillar.
Up on the balcony, Vincent heard the muffled thuds and bone-snapping impacts below. He raised his phone, clicking on the flashlight beam, shining it down into the dark ballroom.
The beam landed on Levi Marconi.
Levi stood amidst three downed enforcers, his tux unruffled, holding a heavy 9mm tactical sidearm pointed directly up at the balcony.
Vincent’s heart leaped into his throat. "Fire! Kill him!"
The remaining two guards on the balcony opened fire.
RAT-TAT-TAT!
Bullets tore into the carpet and plaster around Levi. Levi rolled behind a heavy oak dining table, returning fire with lethal accuracy.
BANG! BANG!
Two shots rang out. Both Moretti guards on the balcony dropped, their weapons falling over the railing and clattering to the floor below.
The emergency back-up generators roared to life with a deafening hum.
The ballroom lights flickered back on, illuminating the aftermath.
The high-society crowd had fled into the corridors. The floor was cleared. Levi walked calmly out from behind the oak table, stepping over the fallen hitmen, his weapon aimed high.
Up on the balcony, Vincent Moretti was sprinting frantically toward the rear service stairs, his face drenched in cold sweat.
"Sal, seal the building," Levi commanded into his radio, his voice cold as ice. "Vincent is mine."
Levi leaped onto the balcony railing, pulling himself up with terrifying athletic power, and gave chase down the long, carpeted service corridor.
Vincent slammed through the heavy steel door leading to the rooftop helipad, bursting out into the freezing Chicago rain.
A dark helicopter was idling on the wet helipad, its rotors spinning furiously, blinding rain whipping across the concrete.
Vincent ran toward the open door of the chopper, shouting to the pilot, "Get us off the roof! Now! Move!"
"Going somewhere, Vincent?" a voice thundered through the rain.
Vincent spun around.
Levi stood by the doorway, his gun holstered, his dark eyes burning through the storm. Rain soaked through his black tuxedo, running down his scarred face.
Vincent backed away toward the edge of the helipad, pulling a silver snub-nosed revolver from his pocket with trembling hands.
"Stay back, Marconi!" Vincent screamed over the deafening roar of the helicopter blades. "My father will burn Chicago to the ground! You can't touch us! We own New York! We own the courts!"
"Your father killed my father with poison," Levi said, stepping forward into the cold rain, completely unbothered by the gun pointed at his chest. "He made him die in a hospital bed, weak, confused, and surrounded by lies."
Levi took another step.
"I am not my father, Vincent."
Vincent panicked and pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
The gun jammed. The wet weather had rusted the cheap silver hammer firing pin.
Vincent stared at the weapon in horror.
Levi closed the distance in half a second. He grabbed Vincent by his collar, lifted the three-hundred-pound mobster off his feet, and slammed him violently against the edge of the rooftop safety barrier, suspending him three hundred feet above the pavement of downtown Chicago.
Vincent shrieked in terror, his legs dangling over the abyss, looking down at the tiny, flashing police lights far below.
"Please! Levi! Please!" Vincent wept, clutching frantically at Levi’s arms. "It was my father! It was Dominic! I was just following orders! I'll give you New York! I'll give you everything!"
Levi looked into the eyes of the man who had tried to murder a seven-year-old girl in her sleep.
"My father taught me to forgive mistakes," Levi whispered into Vincent’s ear over the roar of the wind. "Natalie taught me to protect innocence. You are neither."
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Levi released his grip.
Vincent’s screams echoed down into the dark, rain-soaked canyon of the city until the sound was swallowed completely by the night.
