Chapter 7 - THE GRENADE IN THE HALLWAY
The shockwave knocked Michael off balance, sending him sprawling onto the linoleum floor.
“What are you doing?!” Michael screamed, coughing through the thick, gray smoke as he scrambled backward. “Shoot them! Not the wall!”
Frank didn't aim the launcher at Michael. He rested the heavy barrel casually on his shoulder and pointed it directly at the elite tactical guards Michael had just brought in.
“I told you at the restaurant, Michael,” Frank’s voice boomed through the corridor, calm and absolutely lethal. “I’ve protected Anthony Moretti for thirty-one years. I didn't survive three decades in this war by taking orders from an amateur.”
The guards froze, lowering their rifles as they stared down the barrel of Frank’s weapon.
Anthony blinked through the smoke, lowering his pistol slightly, staring at his oldest adviser in utter bewilderment. “Frank… I thought you turned.”
“And miss the finale?” Frank smirked, walking down the center of the smoky hallway. He stepped right past Michael, kicking the younger man’s ankle hard enough to make him cry out in pain. “Please. I’ve been waiting twenty-five years to settle accounts with the Rostova syndicate, and I wasn't going to let a spoiled brat ruin the show.”
Elena’s eyes narrowed. She pulled a concealed blade from her sleeve with terrifying speed. “You knew who I was all along.”
“Of course I did, Elena,” Frank said, stopping ten feet away from her. “I was the one who pulled you out of the burning hospital nursery thirty-five years ago. I was the one who told Anthony’s father you were dead, because I knew if he found you, he’d finish the job.”
The silence that followed was heavier than any explosion.
I looked up from the floor, my mind shattering into a million pieces. “You… you saved her?”
“I saved both of you,” Frank said softly, looking down at me. “Anthony’s father was a lunatic. If the war didn't stop, the Moretti family would have consumed itself from the inside out. I helped Elena hide you, Evelyn. I authorized the secret trust fund through the family accounts to keep you fed and safe. I played the long game.”
Anthony stared at Frank, his jaw slack. “You protected my granddaughter… for twenty-five years… behind my back?”
“Somebody had to be the brains of this organization, Anthony,” Frank sighed, rolling his eyes. “You were too busy drowning your sorrows in Scotch over the son your father forced you to believe died in a crash.”
Michael scrambled to his feet, wiping soot from his expensive suit, his face contorted in a mask of sheer panic and fury. “Shoot them! All of them! He’s a traitor! Kill Frank! Kill the girl!”
None of the guards moved. They looked at Frank, then at Anthony, realizing the tectonic plates of the Chicago underworld had just shifted entirely.
“Your reign is over, Michael,” Anthony said, stepping forward. The grief in his eyes was gone, replaced once again by the cold, iron-clad authority of a Don who had reclaimed his throne.
“Dad… wait, let’s talk about this,” Michael stammered, backing away until his spine hit the wall. “We’re family!”
“Family?” Anthony raised his pistol. “You tried to murder me with poison. You tried to burn your own cousin alive. You don't get a family discount.”
Anthony didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The bullet struck the floor inches from Michael’s feet, shattering the tile and sending the young man collapsing into a sobbing, pathetic mess on the ground.
“Miller!” Anthony barked.
The security chief stepped out from the stairwell. “Boss?”
“Take Michael to the basement of the Bellavista restaurant. Lock him in the walk-in freezer until I decide whether to feed him to the fishes or send him to a federal penitentiary.”
“With pleasure,” Miller grinned, grabbing Michael by the collar and hauling him bodily down the hallway.
As Michael’s screams faded into the distance, quiet descended upon the fourth-floor corridor.
Elena slowly lowered her blade, looking at Frank with a complex mix of hatred, grudging respect, and exhaustion.
“So,” Elena said quietly. “What happens now, Frank? The secret is out. The bloodlines have collided.”
May you like
Frank looked at Anthony, then down at me, still sitting on the floor amidst the chaos.
“Now,” Frank said, offering me a weathered, calloused hand, “we finally put the war to rest.”
