Chapter 6 - The Gathering Storm
Two weeks had passed since the night at Benny’s, and the fragile equilibrium of Chicago’s underworld was beginning to fracture along its fault lines.
In a high-rise glass-and-steel boardroom overlooking the roaring expressway of the West Side, Viktor Vance sat behind an executive desk of polished ebony, swirling a glass of dark scotch. Viktor was the syndicate head of the western districts—a man who wore tailored Italian suits, smiled with all of his teeth, and disposed of his enemies with the cold efficiency of a corporate restructuring.
Across the room stood Marcus, Viktor’s chief lieutenant, looking distinctly nervous.
“Explain it to me again, Marcus,” Viktor said smoothly, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. “Because the way I heard it, Hayes was practically on his deathbed two weeks ago. His captains were whispering about a coup. His chefs were terrified. And then he suddenly gets into an SUV in the middle of a monsoon, drives out to a rat-infested diner in the South End, eats a bowl of stew, and comes back looking like he’s ready to conquer the entire lakefront.”
“It’s true, boss,” Marcus muttered, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “Hayes hasn't touched food from his own private kitchens in a month. He’s completely cut off his main catering staff. But whatever he ate that night... it cured whatever was rotting him from the inside out. He’s sharp again. His enforcers are moving with twice the aggression they had a month ago.”
Viktor took a slow sip of scotch, his jaw tightening. “Paranoia was his best weapon, Marcus. As long as Hayes was starving himself, he was vulnerable. He was making mistakes. If he’s regained his footing, our window of opportunity to seize the North Side docks is closing permanently.”
“What do you want to do?”
Viktor set his glass down on the ebony wood with a sharp clack.
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“A king who doesn't trust his own kitchen is a man who relies entirely on external supply chains,” Viktor said, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Find out who cooked that meal. Find out every detail about the girl in that diner. If Hayes has found a single point of human failure—a single person outside his syndicate who holds the key to his peace of mind—then we will simply remove that variable from the equation.”
Marcus nodded slowly, a dark grin matching his boss's expression. “Consider it done.”
