Chapter 7 - THE MASTERSTROKE
Three weeks later, the Syndicate Council met at the Grand Plaza Hotel downtown.
All twenty crime bosses of the tri-state area were present, seated around a massive oak table in the penthouse ballroom. The room was guarded by over fifty armed men.
At the head of the table sat Matteo, his shoulder wrapped in heavy bandages, holding court as if he already owned the city. beside him stood Lorenzo Moretti, who had paid his way out of Desmond's basement through corrupt police connections.
"Gallagher is finished," Matteo announced to the room, pounding his fist on the table. "His estate was wrecked, his men are fractured, and he's hiding in his bedroom like a wounded dog. I propose an immediate vote to dissolve the Gallagher territory and split it between the Moretti family and my council!"
A wave of murmurs swept through the room. Several bosses nodded in agreement.
"Is that so?"
A deep, commanding voice echoed from the back of the ballroom.
The heavy double doors swung open.
A man walked into the room.
He wasn't in a wheelchair. He wasn't using a cane.
Desmond Gallagher walked down the center aisle wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his posture straight, his stride long, steady, and utterly terrifying. Beside him walked Sam, along with thirty fully armed Gallagher soldiers in black tactical gear.
The ballroom erupted into chaos. Bosses stood up, knocking over their chairs.
Matteo gasped, his face turning the color of chalk. "No... impossible... you're paralyzed!"
Desmond stopped at the foot of the table, resting his hands casually on the back of an empty leather chair. He looked around the room, his icy eyes sweeping over every terrified face.
"I was sick," Desmond said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "But I had a very good nurse. And now... I am completely cured."
Lorenzo Moretti reached for his gun, but before his hand could touch his holster, Desmond pulled a silenced weapon from his jacket and fired once.
The bullet struck Lorenzo between the eyes. He collapsed across the oak table, dead before he hit the wood.
Screams echoed through the room, but no one dared draw a weapon. Desmond's tactical team had already lined the perimeter, weapons raised.
Desmond walked slowly toward Matteo, his heavy leather shoes clicking against the polished floor.
Matteo backed away until his shoulders hit the glass floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. "Desmond... please... we were brothers... I was just—"
"You were a traitor," Desmond interrupted softly. "You poisoned my body, you brought enemies into my home, and you tried to take what belonged to me."
Desmond grabbed Matteo by the lapels of his jacket and lifted him off his feet, slamming him against the glass.
"The streets thought I was weak," Desmond whispered into his ear. "Let this be a lesson to anyone who mistakes my patience for mercy."
Desmond drew a heavy combat knife from his belt and plunged it deep into Matteo's chest.
Matteo gasped, his eyes rolling back as the life left his body. Desmond released him, letting the traitor fall limp onto the floor.
Desmond turned back to the remaining nineteen syndicate bosses. He wiped his blade with a silk handkerchief, his face entirely expressionless.
"Who else thinks I'm unfit to lead?" Desmond asked quietly.
May you like
Not a single man moved. Every boss in the room bowed his head in absolute submission.
"Good," Desmond said, dropping the bloody handkerchief onto Matteo's chest. "Meeting adjourned."
