Chapter 5 - The Council of Wolves
Viktor’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with stark terror as the steel muzzle pressed into his throat. The smug, arrogant legal counsel had vanished, replaced by a cornered rat realizing his clever trap had just snapped shut around his own neck.
"Damian—wait," Viktor choked out, his fingers clawing weakly at my wrists. "You can't kill me. The entire syndicate board... they’re backing me. If I die, the local capos will tear your organization apart from the inside out in forty-eight hours. You’ll have a full-scale civil war on the streets of Chicago."
"Let them try," I murmured, my voice chillingly low. "A civil war sounds like a great way to clean house."
Before I could pull the trigger, my encrypted earpiece flared to life with Marcus’s urgent voice. "Boss! We’ve got movement on the perimeter security feeds. Three black armored vans just breached the north gate. It’s the Syndicate Council enforcement division. They’ve brought heavy ordnance—they're setting up a breach charge on the main lobby doors right now!"
The Council. Viktor hadn't just been acting as a rogue traitor; he had been the liaison for the five regional capos who sat on the ruling board of the Chicago underworld—men who believed I had grown too isolated, too distracted by legitimate corporate acquisitions, and now, too vulnerable because of my sons.
I looked down at Viktor, who was gasping for air. I didn't shoot him. Instead, I reversed my pistol and brought the heavy polymer grip crashing down across his jaw. Viktor crumpled to the concrete floor like a broken marionette, unconscious and bleeding profusely.
I stripped the encrypted tablet from his limp fingers, sliding it into my inner pocket, and sprinted toward the private stairwell, taking the steps three at a time back up to the penthouse.
When I burst through the secure steel doors, the apartment was quiet. I rushed to the guest bedroom and unlocked it. Noah and Caleb were sitting up on the bed, startled awake by the distant, muffled thud of the ground-floor breach charges echoing up through the building's concrete core.
Noah immediately jumped off the bed, shielding his little brother with his small body. "Mr. Ashford? What’s happening?"
I dropped down onto one knee in front of them, grabbing the worn green backpack from the floor and slinging it securely over Noah’s shoulders.
"Listen to me very carefully," I said, looking straight into those gray-green eyes that mirrored my own. "We are going to play a game. We’re going to take a fast elevator down to the underground parking garage, get into a very fast car, and go on a road trip. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you hold onto each other and don't look back. Do you understand?"
Noah swallowed hard, his little chin trembling, but he nodded. "I understand. I'll protect Caleb."
"Good boy," I said, gripping his shoulder firmly.
I scooped Caleb up into my arms again, his small arms wrapping tightly around my neck, and grabbed Noah’s hand. We moved out of the penthouse into the private elevator just as the emergencyKlaxons began to wail throughout the upper floors. The Council had breached the lower levels. They were coming up the stairwells.
I punched the override code for the sub-level armory and garage, plunging the elevator downward into the dark, subterranean depths beneath downtown Chicago.
When the doors opened, the cavernous underground parking garage was dimly lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs. My custom armored matte-black Mercedes Maybach was idling in its private bay, driven by Marcus, who was clutching a heavily bandaged shoulder, an assault rifle resting across his lap.
"Boss!" Marcus yelled, shifting the car into park as we sprinted across the concrete. "The east stairwell is blown! They’re pouring into the sub-levels right now!"
"Open the back door!" I shouted, bundling Noah and Caleb into the back seat, slamming the armored door shut to lock it from the inside. I slid into the front passenger seat, slamming my Sig Sauer onto the console.
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"Drive, Marcus. Punch through the northern service exit through the old freight tunnels."
Marcus slammed his foot on the gas, the twin-turbo V12 engine roaring to life with a deafening snarl of mechanical rage as the Maybach rocketed forward into the dark, labyrinthine underbelly of Chicago.
