Chapter 9 - The Grand Hotel
The ballroom of the Grand Hotel was filled with Chicago's most dangerous men. Tuxedos, diamonds, expensive cigars, and concealed weapons defined the atmosphere.
At the center head table sat Victor Moretti—a cruel, sharp-featured man in his late thirties, surrounded by heavily armed guards. Beside him stood Dominic, the traitor who had sold out Joseph Salvini.
"Tonight, we close a chapter," Victor announced into a microphone, his voice echoing off the crystal chandeliers. "The Salvinis ruled Chicago for thirty years. But Joseph Salvini grew soft. He got distracted by old ghosts and illegitimate children. Today, the Salvini reign ends!"
The crowd cheered softly—a cold, polite applause from men who only respected strength.
Suddenly, the grand double doors of the ballroom slammed open.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
The music stopped. The chatter died instantly.
Standing in the doorway was Joseph Salvini. He wore a tailored black tuxedo, his hair brushed back, walking tall and straight despite the thick bandages under his shirt.
And walking beside him was me.
I wore an elegant navy blue evening gown, my hair styled, holding my head high as Marco and ten heavy-armored Salvini loyalists stepped into the room behind us, their submachine guns raised.
"You declared my death prematurely, Victor," Joseph said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room.
Victor's face went white. Dominic took a step back, reaching for his sidearm.
"How... how are you standing?" Victor stammered.
"Because Chicago belongs to men who build it, not parasites who feed on it," Joseph said calmly. He walked down the center aisle of the ballroom, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea. I walked right beside him, my heart pounding, but my steps firm.
"Shoot him!" Victor shrieked to his men. "Shoot them both!"
Before Victor's guards could raise their weapons, Marco's team fired a synchronized volley into the ceiling. Dust rained down, and forty armed mobsters from the other families immediately pulled their guns, pointing them at Victor's men.
"Hold!" yelled Don Carmine, the oldest mob boss in the city, standing up from his seat. "Joseph Salvini walks in his own city! Lower your weapons!"
Victor panicked. He grabbed a glass off the table and threw it at Joseph, reaching for his weapon, but Joseph was faster.
With lightning speed, Joseph drew his gun from his coat and fired a single shot.
Victor dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder, his gun clattering to the floor.
Joseph walked up to the head table, looking down at the bleeding man. Then he turned his gaze to Dominic, who was trembling violently.
"Dominic," Joseph said softly. "You sold twenty years of loyalty for a bag of silver."
"Boss, please!" Dominic dropped to his knees, begging for mercy. "He threatened my family! He forced me!"
Joseph didn't raise his gun. He looked at Marco.
"Take him out back," Joseph ordered coldly. "And make sure Victor Moretti leaves Chicago on a boat tonight—and never returns."
The entire room was dead silent. The bosses of the six families looked at Joseph Salvini, then at me standing by his side—the girl who had brought the legendary Don back from the dead.
Don Carmine raised his glass of champagne high into the air.
May you like
"To the Salvini family," Carmine declared, his deep voice ringing out. "And to the true ruler of Chicago."
The room erupted into applause. The war was over.
