Chapter 6 - The Cicero Ultimatum
The basement of the St. Jude Union Hall on 14th Street smelled of old dust, stale beer, and the sharp ink of illegal betting sheets. Sal Moretti sat behind a green felt card table, his fingers busy with a gold cigar cutter, his face a map of ninety years of West Side history. Around him stood twenty of his best shooters, their hands inside their heavy wool overcoats.
The double iron doors of the basement were blown off their tracks with a single, controlled thermite charge.
The smoke hadn't even cleared before Dante Vance’s team poured into the room, their tactical shields forming a wall of black polymer that pushed the Moretti soldiers back against the concrete pillars.
Roman Black walked through the smoke last. He was wearing his full charcoal suit now, his cane topped with a silver wolf’s head, his stride slow and deliberate despite the fresh bandage under his vest. Beside him, her hand tucked into his arm because he refused to let her leave his sight, was Ava Monroe.
"You brought a civilian to a commission meeting, Roman?" Sal Moretti sneered, though his hand shook slightly as he dropped his cigar into an ash tray. "The old man would turn in his grave if he saw you hiding behind a girl's skirts."
"This girl isn't my skirt, Sal," Roman said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that seemed to drop the temperature in the basement by ten degrees. "She’s the reason you’re still breathing. Because if she hadn't saved my life on Thursday, Dante would have turned the West Side into an open grave before the weekend."
He slammed his silver cane down onto the green felt table, splitting the wood with a single, massive blow. "Victoria is currently sitting in a holding cell at the federal building downtown. She’s being charged with attempted murder, racketeering, and violation of the federal transit compact. Your lawyers can't touch her, Sal. I gave the U.S. Attorney the ledgers from your Cicero hub two hours ago."
Sal’s face went the color of old newspaper. "You turned state’s evidence? You broke the code?"
"The code died when your daughter put a knife into my stomach while my five-year-old was sleeping down the hall," Roman said, leaning across the broken table until his amber eyes were inches from Sal’s face. "The Black family is out of the distribution business, Sal. We’re legitimate as of this morning. Every asset we own has been transferred to a clean corporate trust. You have twelve hours to sign the remaining territory over to Dante’s crews, or you can join Victoria in the federal wing."
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He turned around, his long coat swinging around his knees, and looked at Ava. Her face was pale, but her blue eyes were steady, her hand gripping his arm with a strength that told him she wasn't looking at a mafia boss anymore—she was looking at a man who was finally breaking the chains of his own history.
"Let’s go home, Ava," Roman said softly, his voice transforming into that gentle, private register that belonged only to her. "Sophie is waiting for her dinner."
