Chapter 12 - The Council of Shadows
Midnight at the Chicago River docks was freezing.
Dense fog rolled off the black water, wrapping around the rusted cranes and abandoned shipping containers of Moretti Pier 42.
Inside the sprawling, dim warehouse, twelve heavily armed capos stood around an enormous rusted steel table. Uncle Silvio sat at the head of the table, flanked by four men in heavy overcoats whose hands never left their pockets.
"Where is he?" Dante growled, pacing the concrete floor. "It's past midnight. The feds are swarming the North Side estate. If Alejandro doesn't show, we need to vote on interim leadership!"
"Patience, Dante," Silvio said with a sickeningly sweet smile, tapping his silver-tipped cane on the floor. "My nephew has endured a terrible tragedy. Losing his home... perhaps losing his mind. He spoke of ghosts on the radio. He may no longer be fit to lead."
"Who isn't fit to lead, Uncle?"
My voice echoed through the high-vaulted rafters of the warehouse like a thunderclap.
The heavy steel side door swung open.
I walked in alone.
No bodyguards. No tactical escort. Just me, dressed in my bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, my hands resting casually in my pockets. But the aura radiating from me made three capos instinctively take a step back.
"Alejandro!" Silvio beamed, though his eyes darted toward the shadows behind me, looking for an ambush. "You made it! We were worried sick."
"Were you, Silvio?"
I walked slowly toward the table, the rhythmic click of my Italian leather shoes echoing off the concrete.
"Of course! The Valentis have gone too far. We must mobilize every soldier, every corner crew, and burn their docks to the ground!" Silvio shouted with practiced fervor.
I reached the foot of the table, pulling a sleek tablet from inside my breast pocket and tossing it onto the metal surface between us.
"Before we burn their docks," I said coldly, "let's talk about Pier 42's customs manifests from five years ago. Specifically, shipment 804. Thallium-201."
Silvio's smile vanished. His face drained of color so fast it looked as if his soul had been sucked out through his boots.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dante demanded, picking up the tablet.
"The meaning," I said, locking my gaze onto Silvio, "is that Carmine Valenti didn't attack my home to take over Chicago. He attacked my home because my uncle promised him twenty million dollars and my territory in exchange for executing four four-year-old boys."
Gasps erupted around the table.
"He's insane!" Silvio shrieked, slamming his cane down. "He has lost his mind over his dead wife! Guards, seize him! He is unfit for command!"
May you like
Silvio's four personal bodyguards drew their weapons.
***