Chapter 6 - The Trap at the Palmer House
The night of the truce meeting brought a heavy torrential downpour over downtown Chicago.
Inside the historic Palmer House Hotel, the grand ballroom was empty, its sweeping crystal chandeliers dimmed to a amber glow. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the roar of the rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Damian stepped out of the elevator onto the hotel's mezzanine floor, flanked by Marco and four of his top security officers. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit, his hands tucked casually in his pockets.
Sitting at a large mahogany round table in the center of the ballroom was Don Vincenzo Moretti. The eighty-year-old mob boss looked frail, sitting in a wheelchair, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. Beside him stood his attorney and two elderly bodyguards who looked more like relic museum pieces than active hitmen.
"Damian," Moretti croaked, his voice like dry leaves scraping across pavement. "You look just like your father. Cold. Arrogant."
"Let's make this brief, Vincenzo," Damian said, walking to the table and pulling out a leather document folder. "You hand over the deeds to the Cicero railyard, the riverfront docks, and your interest in the concrete trust. In exchange, I grant you safe passage to Miami and a monthly stipend from the logistics company until you die."
Moretti stared at the contract, a strange, terrible smile slowly spreading across his withered face.
"You think you’ve won, don't you, boy?" Moretti whispered softly. "You think because you wear expensive suits and talk about corporate restructuring, you aren't one of us?"
"I am nothing like you," Damian said coldly. "Sign the paper."
Moretti didn't pick up the pen. Instead, he reached into his wool blanket and pulled out a small electronic remote control with a single red button.
Marco instantly drew his sidearm. "Boss! Clear!"
"It’s not a bomb in this room, you fools," Moretti cackled, his voice rising into a cracked, hysterical scream. "Did you really think I would let a twenty-nine-year-old upstart destroy my legacy?! I know where your heart is, Damian! I know what you love!"
Damian’s blood instantly ran cold. "What did you do?"
"My second tactical team didn't come to the hotel tonight," Moretti sneered, pressing the red button. "They’re at your estate in Gold Coast. By now, the explosive charges on your security gates have detonated. Your precious little girl and your little retail whore are already dead!"
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Damian didn't hesitate. He pulled his weapon and fired a single shot, striking Moretti directly between the eyes. The old man slumped forward onto the mahogany table.
"Marco!" Damian roared, sprinting toward the grand staircase. "Get the cars! NOW!"
