Chapter 7 - The Traitor's Price
The confrontation inside the dark gymnasium was dead silent, save for the sound of the wind howling off the lake outside. The three enforcers Maroni had brought with him didn't look at their boss; they looked at Sebastian, their hands trembling against the grips of their firearms. In the criminal underworld of Chicago, a crippled Lombardi was a target—but a standing Lombardi was a legend.
"Marco," Sebastian said, his eyes shifting slowly toward his primary advisor, who was currently standing frozen near the door, his face a sickly shade of green. "You look surprised. Did you think my recovery would complicate your retirement plans?"
"Sebastian... no," Marco stammered, taking a step backward into the hallway, his hands raised in a defensive gesture. "I was just bringing Don Maroni to see the facility. We were... we were concerned about your health."
"You were concerned about my timeline," Sebastian said, his legs holding firm for a full forty-five seconds before he slowly, deliberately lowered himself back into his armored wheelchair with the smooth control of an elite athlete. He didn't look exhausted; he looked re-energized. "Joseph, your men can drop their weapons now. Because if a single barrel stays pointed at Clara or her son, the shipping manifests for every pharmaceutical container arriving in the midwest tomorrow will be delivered directly to the federal building on Dearborn Street."
Don Maroni looked at his enforcers, his face tight with a furious, helpless rage. "Lower them," he snapped. The men instantly holstered their weapons, stepping back into the shadows of the corridor.
"Marco," Sebastian continued, turning his chair to face his advisor. "For ten years, you've been skimming four percent off the real estate developments in the Loop, hiding the ledger entries under a dummy corporation registered in Delaware. I let you do it because you were efficient. But the moment you brought Maroni into my home to discuss a transition of power... you became a liability."
He reached into the side pocket of his wheelchair, pulling out a small, encrypted flash drive and throwing it onto the floor at Marco's feet.
"Everything is on that drive, Marco," Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet hiss. "The bank accounts, the properties, the names of the judges you paid off using my family's money. You have exactly two hours to clear your desk and leave this state. If I see your face in Chicago after sunrise... the wolves won't just find you in the river. They won't find you at all."
May you like
Marco didn't argue. He snatched the drive from the floor, turned on his heel, and bolted down the hallway, his leather shoes squeaking frantically against the marble until the sound died out in the distance.
Sebastian looked back at Don Maroni, who was now picking up his cane with trembling fingers. "The commission meeting is still on for Thursday, Joseph. And when you sit at my table, you will remember one thing: the chair was never my weakness. It was just my armor. Get out."
