Chapter 5 - Crashing the Drake Hotel
The Drake Hotel stood as a shining beacon of Chicago’s high society, its grand crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over hundreds of politicians, elite business tycoons, and corrupt city officials.
At 1:15 AM, Mayor Thomas Sterling stood at the mahogany podium in the Grand Ballroom, holding a glass of vintage champagne, smiling brilliantly for the news cameras.
“Chicago is safer today than it has ever been!” Sterling declared into the microphone, his voice booming across the crowd. “Through strategic partnerships and uncompromising law enforcement, we have neutralized the organized crime syndicates that once threatened our streets—”
BOOM!
The heavy oak doors of the Grand Ballroom didn't just open—they were blown off their hinges by a targeted breach charge.
Panic exploded through the room like a physical wave. Women screamed, dropping crystal glasses onto the polished floor. High-society men scrambled over tables, trying to find cover as smoke poured into the opulent hall.
Through the haze stepped twenty men in tactical black gear bearing the Moretti crest—a silver dragon wrapped around a dagger.
Behind them walked Alejandro Moretti.
I wore a tailored black suit, my trench coat unbuttoned, my Kimber .45 resting comfortably in my hand. I didn't rush. I didn't shout. I walked down the center aisle of the ballroom like an ancient king inspecting his domain.
Mayor Sterling’s private security detail—four armed guards in expensive suits—drew their weapons.
Four thuds.
Before Sterling’s men could level their barrels, my snipers positioned on the balcony above took them down with silenced precision. The bodyguards dropped onto the carpet without firing a single shot.
The remaining two hundred guests froze in absolute terror.
I stepped onto the stage, grabbed Mayor Sterling by his silk necktie, and yanked him away from the podium. He stumbled, dropping his champagne glass, his face turning bright red as he gasped for air.
“A-Alejandro!” Sterling sputtered, his eyes wide with horror. “Are you crazy?! There are press cameras here! This is political suicide!”
I pressed the warm steel barrel of my pistol directly against the mayor’s forehead.
“You canceled our 2:00 PM meeting today, Thomas,” I said softly, my voice carrying clearly through the silent, terrified ballroom. “Why?”
“I... I had an urgent budget meeting with the city council!” Sterling lied, his hands shaking as he clutched my sleeve. “I swear to God, Alejandro! It was administrative!”
I leaned in close, my dark eyes boring into his soul.
“Two hours ago, I killed three Bellini mercenaries inside my home,” I whispered. “They were looking for my four sons.”
Sterling’s eyes dilated. His jaw trembled. He knew he was caught.
“Who called you at noon today to cancel that meeting, Thomas?” I asked, cocking the hammer of my pistol. Click. “Give me a name, or your brains will decorate that crystal chandelier before your security team makes it up the stairs.”
“Cassian!” Sterling wept, breaking completely under the terror. “It was Cassian Vance! He called me from a secure satellite line! He told me he would fund my gubernatorial campaign with ten million dollars if I kept you occupied downtown between 2:00 PM and 4:00 PM!”
The crowd gasped. The political career of Thomas Sterling was dead, but I didn't care about politics.
“Where is Cassian’s secure relay hub in Chicago?” I demanded.
“The old grain silo near the river docks!” Sterling cried out, tears streaming down his face. “He has an encrypted communications center on the top floor! He’s monitoring the Bellini strike teams from there! Please, Alejandro, don't kill me! I have a family!”
I looked at the weeping mayor, then slowly uncocked my weapon and lowered it.
“You’re lucky I have a family too, Thomas,” I said coldly.
I shoved him back onto the stage floor, turned around, and looked at the terrified crowd of Chicago’s elite.
“Listen to me carefully,” I announced, my booming voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Chicago belongs to the Moretti family. Anyone who aids Cassian Vance or Don Lorenzo Bellini will find their homes burned and their names erased from history. Clear this room.”
My men escorted the panicking guests out the side exits while Dante stepped onto the stage beside me.
May you like
“The grain silo near the river docks, Boss?” Dante asked, gripping his rifle. “Should I call in the full assault squad?”
“No,” I replied, walking off the stage. “I want Cassian alive. I want him to look into my eyes when he realizes that Sofia’s children are going to rule everything he tried to steal.”
