Chapter 18 - NO MERCY FOR THE WICKED
The plan was executed with ruthless precision. As the Calabrese strike teams pushed into the central city, anticipating heavy resistance, they found empty streets. Confused, they pushed further in. Then, with a synchronized mechanical roar, the bridges over the Chicago River lifted into the air.
The New York faction was trapped in the downtown grid.
From the north and the south, Moretti freight trucks blockaded the avenues. Snipers took positions on the high-rises. It wasn't a battle; it was a slaughter. Evelyn watched the feeds from the mobile command center, her face an unreadable mask. She was orchestrating a symphony of destruction, moving pieces on a board with a cold detachment that she didn't know she possessed a year ago.
Don Antonio, realizing his forces were being decimated, tried to flee the city in a private helicopter from a downtown helipad. But Evelyn had anticipated that too.
"Marco," Evelyn spoke into the radio. "Bring him down."
A barrage of heavy machine-gun fire tore through the helicopter's rotors before it could even clear the roof. The chopper spun out of control, crashing into the reinforced roof of an abandoned warehouse.
Evelyn and Lorenzo arrived on the scene thirty minutes later. The rain had started to fall again, mixing with the smoke and fire. Don Antonio was pulled from the wreckage, bloodied, broken, and defeated. He looked up at Evelyn, coughing up blood.
"You... you're just a girl," he wheezed.
May you like
Evelyn crouched down, the rain washing over her face. "No," she whispered. "I'm the house. And the house always wins."
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