Chapter 7 - The Circle of Wolves
By 4:30 AM, the courtyard had been cleared.
The nine bodies had been loaded into an unmarked refrigerated truck, destined for an incinerator in Gary. Snowplows scraped the bloody slush from the driveways, while groundskeepers tossed salt over the marble steps. To any passing patrol car on the outer highway, the Moretti estate appeared peacefully dormant beneath a heavy blanket of fresh powder.
In the sub-basement conference bunker—a room lined with six inches of lead and copper mesh to prevent any electronic eavesdropping—five men sat around a circular steel table.
Gabriel sat at the head. Dante stood behind him, arms crossed, his knuckles still bruised and scraped from the fight.
The other four men were Gabriel’s core command:
Marcus Bell, the chief financial comptroller who managed the syndicate’s offshore shell corporations.
Sal Caruso, the veteran capo overseeing the North Side gambling and labor unions.
Detective Inspector Thomas Harris, a high-ranking Chicago PD commander on Gabriel’s personal payroll.
And Leonard Vance—no relation to Julian Vance—Gabriel’s personal attorney and legal fixer for the past eight years.
Every man in the room had sworn blood oaths to the Moretti family. Every man had grown unimaginably wealthy under Gabriel’s reign.
On the center of the table lay the burner phone recovered from Margaret Collins, alongside the tactical tablet stripped from the dead mercenary commander.
“The south gate security codes were updated at midnight,” Gabriel said, breaking the suffocating silence. “Only five people in this city had access to that encryption key. Myself. Dante.”
He pointed his golden eyes across the table.
“And you four.”
Marcus Bell, a slender man in wire-rimmed spectacles, swallowed visibly. “Gabriel, you can’t possibly think—I’ve been managing your family’s books for twenty years! I audited the Christmas bonus distribution myself!”
“Which gave you complete access to the household personnel rosters,” Gabriel noted coldly.
“Wait a minute,” Sal Caruso growled, slamming a heavy, ring-covered fist on the table. “We’ve been at war with Julian Vance since Marco died! I lost three of my best crews in the South Side skirmishes last spring! If you’re accusing me of climbing into bed with that dog Vance, you better pull that gun and shoot me right now, Gabriel!”
“Nobody is shooting anyone,” Leonard Vance said smoothly, adjusting his silk tie. “Let’s be logical. The mercenary commander could have lied to cause internal chaos. It’s a standard counter-intelligence tactic. If Julian Vance wanted to strike at Gabriel, turning us against each other is the easiest way to paralyze the syndicate.”
“The mercenary didn't lie,” Dante said, his voice a low rumble. “The shot that took him out came from an Arctic Warfare .338 Lapua. Military grade. The shooter was sitting on the ridge behind the guest stables. That ridge is covered by our perimeter motion sensors.”
Dante leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the table.
“The motion sensors for that specific sector were put on ‘maintenance bypass’ at 1:15 AM. From a terminal inside this bunker.”
The air inside the room turned to ice.
Sal Caruso looked at Marcus. Marcus looked at Leonard. Inspector Harris shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hand twitching near his coat.
“Who logged into the bunker terminal at 1:15?” Inspector Harris asked, his voice tight.
Gabriel tapped the screen of his tablet. “The system logged the user as administrative override code 7-Echo. That code belongs to our legal team.”
Every eye in the room snapped to Leonard Vance.
The attorney didn't flinch. He maintained his polished, professional half-smile. But the muscles along his jaw tightened into rigid cords.
“Gabriel,” Leonard said smoothly, “that code is shared among four paralegals in my firm. Anyone could have compromised my office server—”
“I ran the IP trace through our private cell tower three minutes ago,” Gabriel interrupted, his voice devoid of emotion. “The bypass signal wasn't routed through your firm’s server. It came from the burner phone currently resting in your right breast pocket.”
Leonard’s smile vanished completely.
In a fraction of a second, the attorney reached into his coat—not for a phone, but for a compact snub-nosed revolver.
He never cleared leather.
Dante moved with the speed of a striking viper. He caught Leonard’s wrist, twisting it inward until the bone snapped with a sickening *crack*. Leonard screamed, the revolver falling onto the steel table with a sharp clatter.
Dante slammed Leonard’s face down onto the steel table, pinning his skull beneath a massive forearm.
“Marcus. Sal. Thomas,” Gabriel said, not even looking at the screaming attorney. “Leave us.”
The three men stood up instantly, pale and visibly shaken. They backed out of the bunker without a word, the heavy vault door sealing behind them with a pressurized hiss.
Gabriel stood up and walked around the table. He picked up the burner phone from Leonard’s pocket and placed it beside the shattered arm.
“Julian Vance offered you the whole pie, didn't he, Leonard?” Gabriel asked softly.
Leonard coughed, blood from his broken nose staining the steel surface. “You… you were going to burn Chicago to the ground for a dead brother,” Leonard wheezed, defiance bleeding through his pain. “Vance offered stability! The Commission wanted peace! They were tired of your blood feud!”
“Where is Vance right now?” Gabriel asked.
“He’s… he’s at the extraction point,” Leonard spat, gasping for air. “The old rail yard in Pullman. He’s waiting for the girl. When the mercenaries didn't report, he knew the assault had failed. He’s gathering the rest of his crews right now! He knows you have Marco’s widow! If he can't have the girl’s trust fund, he’s going to hit this house with everything he has before sunrise!”
Gabriel nodded slowly.
“Thank you, Leonard,” Gabriel said. “You’ve been an adequate lawyer for eight years.”
Gabriel looked at Dante. “Put him in the cellar beside Margaret. Let them keep each other warm.”
“And Vance?” Dante asked, hauling the weeping attorney to his feet.
Gabriel looked at his watch. It was 5:15 AM. The first faint light of dawn was beginning to bleed over the frozen horizon of Lake Michigan.
May you like
“Vance has spent five years hiding in the shadows, using maids, lawyers, and explosives,” Gabriel said, his golden eyes blazing with lethal purpose. “He wants Marco’s family? Then I will personally deliver them to him.”
***
