Chapter 5 - The War on the Waterfront
The Grand Hotel in downtown Chicago was a historic thirty-story landmark, its grand ballroom serving as the neutral ground for the city's underworld leaders for half a century.
By 11:00 PM, the ballroom was filled with forty senior lieutenants, syndicate bosses, and heavy enforcers. Sitting at the central table was Julian Moretti—a cruel, arrogant man in his forty, sipping scotch, flanked by ten heavily armed guards.
"Nicholas Vane is weak!" Julian declared to the room, slamming his glass onto the oak table. "He was stabbed in an alley four nights ago! He's hiding behind nurses and security guards! The Vane family is finished!"
BOOM!
The heavy double doors of the ballroom exploded inward, torn off their hinges by breaching charges.
Smoke billowed into the room as twenty elite Vane tactical operatives poured through the entrance, their suppressed rifles drawn, locking down every exit in five seconds flat.
Through the clearing smoke walked Nicholas Vane.
He wore a tailored black suit, pristine, sharp, and terrifyingly imposing. Beside him, walking with quiet, stubborn grace, was Sheree Murphy. She wore a simple, elegant dark green dress Mrs. Gable had provided, her chin held high, refusing to look afraid.
Julian Moretti shot out of his chair, his face turning pale as paper. "Vane?! How... how are you standing?!"
Nicholas walked down the central aisle, his heavy footsteps echoing off the gilded ceiling. He stopped five feet from Julian’s table.
"You thought a blade in an alley would finish me, Julian?" Nicholas said, his voice smooth, low, and carrying through the silent room like thunder. "You forgot that I have something you will never have."
Nicholas reached out, gently taking Sheree’s hand, bringing her to stand by his side before the entire Chicago Commission.
"This woman saved my life," Nicholas declared clearly for every boss in the room to hear. "She stitched my flesh when I was broken. And you sent your garbage to drag her through the streets."
Julian backed away, his hands shaking as he reached toward his jacket. "She's a nobody! A dirty ER nurse!"
BANG!
Nicholas pulled a small silver pistol from his suit pocket and fired once.
The bullet struck Julian’s hand, shattering his revolver into pieces, sending him screaming to his knees on the velvet carpet.
Nicholas stepped forward, placing his boot over Julian’s chest, pressing him flat against the floor, looking down at him with dark, unblinking eyes.
"Listen to me carefully, Julian," Nicholas whispered, his voice vibrating through the silent ballroom. "You will surrender all rights to the riverfront terminals tonight. You will leave Chicago by morning. And if you—or any man in this city—ever speaks Sheree Murphy’s name again, I will not use bullet holes. I will erase your entire bloodline."
The surrounding bosses stood motionless, terrified by the sheer, absolute authority radiating from Nicholas Vane.
Julian wept, clutching his bleeding hand, nodding frantically. "I surrender! I surrender, Vane!"
Nicholas kicked Julian’s gun away, stepped off his chest, and turned back to Sheree. The cold, terrifying killer mask melted away instantly, replaced by a soft, fierce devotion as he looked into her eyes.
May you like
He offered her his arm. "Shall we go home, Nurse Murphy?"
Sheree smiled, slipping her hand securely into the crook of his arm. "Yes, Don Nicholas. Let's go home."
