Chapter 3 - The Gathering of Wolves
The warehouse on 47th Street smelled of motor oil, old timber, and fear.
By 11:30 PM, the parking lot was filled with armored SUVs. Inside, under the glare of harsh, industrial halogen lights, thirty of the most powerful men in Chicago stood in silence. My captains, my enforcers, the men who controlled the docks, the unions, the casinos, and the streets.
When I walked through the heavy iron doors, the low murmur of conversation instantly died.
I didn't walk to the head of the table. I stood in the center of the concrete floor, my hands clasped behind my back. Silvio stepped up beside me, handing me a file.
"We ran the card you found, Boss," Silvio whispered. "It was part of a batch printed two years ago for the East Side captains. Silas has been buying them off a crooked print shop we used to use. He's been shaking down small businesses and families using our name for six months."
I closed the file. I looked at my captains.
"Who controls the East Side?" I asked. My voice wasn't loud, but it echoed off the corrugated steel walls.
A heavy-set man in a leather jacket, his knuckles scarred from decades of street fights, stepped forward. His name was Bruno. He was a loyal earner, but loyalty without vigilance is useless.
"I do, Rocco," Bruno said, his voice tight. "But I swear, I didn't know about this. Silas is Marcone's garbage. If I knew he was operating in my territory—"
"You should have known," I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave. "You collect the tributes. You walk the streets. If a rat is stealing cheese under your nose, you are either blind, or you are eating the crumbs."
Bruno's face went entirely pale. He dropped to one knee, his head bowed. "I am loyal, Rocco. Let me fix this. Let me bring you Silas's head."
"No," I said, walking past him. "Silas isn't just a thief. He touched a child. He used my name to starve a family."
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I pulled the black Moretti card from my pocket and tossed it onto the concrete floor. It landed with a soft, plastic click.
"I want the Marcone family erased," I said. "Not pushed out. Not taxed. Erased. Every club, every warehouse, every corner they think they own. By sunrise, I want Silas in front of me."
