Chapter 10 - THE LAST KING OF CHICAGO
Alessandro moved with terrifying, unnatural speed.
He did not limp. His right hand did not tremble. He stood tall, broad, and majestic, his heavy black overcoat flaring out around him like the wings of a dark angel.
In his right hand, his heavy semi-automatic pistol barked three times in rapid, deafening succession—BANG! BANG! BANG!
The three remaining tactical guards surrounding the chair dropped instantly to the concrete, single bullet holes placed with mathematical precision directly between their eyes before they could even raise their weapons.
Marcus gasped, reaching for his own shoulder holster, but Alessandro took two long, explosive strides forward, grabbed Marcus by the throat with his steady left hand, and lifted the two-hundred-pound enforcer completely off his feet.
With a terrifying roar of physical power, Alessandro slammed Marcus head-first against the concrete pillar, crushing the man's skull instantly before dropping his lifeless body onto the floor like a sack of wet sand.
Silence descended upon the warehouse, broken only by the howling wind outside and the frantic, terrified sobbing of the Housemaid.
Vittorio stood completely frozen in the center of the halogen light.
The heavy leather succession folder dropped from his numb fingers, hitting the concrete with a dull thud. The gold-plated fountain pen rolled away across the floor.
Vittorio looked at Alessandro in absolute, mind-shattering horror. He looked at Alessandro’s right hand—the hand holding the smoking pistol—and saw that it was completely, immovably steady.
"How..." Vittorio stammered, his voice cracking, stepping back until his boots hit the edge of a shipping crate. "How are you standing? The dose... the poison... you should be paralyzed..."
Alessandro walked forward slowly, his heavy boots echoing on the concrete. He stopped five feet from Vittorio, his dark eyes fixed on his former friend with a coldness that transcended death itself.
"You built your whole plan on my weakness, Vittorio," Alessandro said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that shook the quiet room. "But you forgot one thing."
Alessandro reached out, grabbed Vittorio by his expensive silk tie, and pulled him in until their faces were inches apart.
"A king is not defined by his body," Alessandro whispered softly into Vittorio's ear. "A king is defined by what he is willing to destroy to protect his throne."
Alessandro raised the pistol, placed the cold steel barrel directly beneath Vittorio’s chin, and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Vittorio’s body collapsed heavily onto the floor, joining the thick leather folder in the dark shadows.
Alessandro stood alone amidst the destruction.
Slowly, the intense surge of artificial adrenaline and neurological stimulants began to fade from his bloodstream. A sudden, massive wave of physical exhaustion slammed into his body like a freight train. His knees buckled, and his right hand began to tremble violently once again, the heavy pistol slipping from his twitching fingers and clattering onto the floor.
He dropped down onto one knee, leaning heavily against his left arm, his breathing ragged, his vision swimming in dark red hues.
A small, soft touch sounded against his left sleeve.
Alessandro turned his head weakly.
The Little Girl stood beside him in her cream cardigan and light-blue dress. She was no longer crying. She looked down at him with wide, bright hazel eyes, her small hand resting gently on his massive, trembling shoulder.
"Thank you, Mr. Moretti," she whispered softly.
Alessandro looked at the child, then looked at her mother, who was scrambling to untie her ropes.
May you like
A quiet, peaceful smile—the first true smile of his entire adult life—spread across Alessandro’s exhausted face. He reached up with his steady left hand, gently patted the Little Girl's small head, and closed his eyes as the sirens of his loyal enforcers began to wail in the distance through the cold Chicago blizzard.
He had lost his health, he had lost his empire, but as he sat in the cold shadows of the warehouse, he knew he had won the only battle that ever truly mattered.
