Chapter 7
The rain outside had softened into a cold, eerie fog that blanketed the streets of downtown Chicago.
At eleven-fifteen PM, three black armored SUVs glided silently through the misty streets, stopping in the darkened alleyway behind the Grand Imperial Hotel. The luxury hotel was a sprawling thirty-story masterpiece of marble and gold, hosting the city's most exclusive high-society Halloween gala in its grand ballroom on the top floor.
Inside the lead SUV, Mr. Moretti sat in the rear leather seat. He had buttoned his expensive black suit jacket over his fitted shirt, concealing a shoulder holster carrying his custom black sidearm. His thick dark wavy hair was neat, his sharp jawline locked like iron. Sitting beside him were Joey and four heavily armed elite guards wearing tactical vests under their black overcoats.
"Perimeter check, Joey," Moretti ordered flatly.
"The hotel's main security is managed by Sabato's private firm, boss," Joey reported, monitoring a encrypted tablet. "He has twenty armed men stationed throughout the top floor. The gala has about two hundred guests—captains, politicians, and business leaders."
"Sabato is on the main stage right now," another guard added, checking the live camera feed they had hacked into. "He's preparing to address the assembly."
Moretti looked out the tinted window at the glowing lights of the hotel tower. His piercing dark eyes were cold, calculating, and devoid of fear. In his pocket rested Luca's small leather notebook and the brass key to the vault containing Sabato's betrayal ledgers.
"We don't shoot civilians," Moretti instructed in a low, commanding rumble. "We enter through the private service elevator. We take the stage before he finishes his speech. If his men draw weapons, eliminate them instantly."
"Understood, Mr. Moretti!" the men responded in unison.
Moretti opened the door and stepped out into the freezing fog. His polished black leather shoes struck the wet asphalt with heavy, rhythmic authority. He walked toward the hotel's rear entrance, his broad-shouldered, muscular frame radiating an aura of terrifying, absolute power.
They breached the rear service entrance without a sound, neutralizing two of Sabato's guards with quick, silent strikes before entering the high-speed private elevator. Joey inserted a override key, sending the elevator ascending directly toward the thirtieth floor.
As the floor indicator light climbed—20... 25... 28... 30—Moretti reached into his jacket, checking his sidearm with a fluid, practiced motion. The intricate black ink on his forearms flexed under his cuffs.
May you like
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor. The doors slid open, revealing the gilded corridor leading directly to the grand ballroom. The sound of classical music, clinking champagne flutes, and low laughter echoed through the hallway.
Moretti stepped out of the elevator, his elite guards forming a tight, lethal wedge behind him. He walked straight toward the heavy double doors of the ballroom, ready to deliver a reckoning ten years in the making.
