Chapter 18 - Night of the Wolves
The release of the Commission's black ledgers detonated like a nuclear bomb across the global financial and political landscape.
Within three hours, federal marshals, SWAT teams, and national guard units were mobilized across twelve major cities. High-ranking senators were dragged from their estates in handcuffs, syndicate captains found their offshore assets frozen in real time, and the criminal underworld descended into complete, cannibalistic civil war as panicked bosses turned violently against one another to destroy evidence.
The chaos provided the exact smokescreen we needed. Marco's private security network collapsed as his paid mercenaries realized their paychecks had vanished into seized bank accounts. Left with nothing but a handful of desperate fanatics, Marco managed to escape his underground bonds during a firefight with a rival cartel hit squad that stormed the St. Regis garage.
He retreated to his true base of power: a heavily fortified, historic coastal fortress perched high on the rocky cliffs of Montauk, on the furthest tip of Long Island.
The night was consumed by a savage Atlantic gale, matching the stormy fury that had brought us together in Chicago weeks earlier. Freezing salt spray slammed against our windshield as Matteo, Beatrice, and I approached the iron perimeter gates of the Montauk compound. Lily had been placed in the secure care of an uncorrupted federal task force agent whose family Matteo had saved years ago, ensuring she was completely beyond Marco's reach.
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The estate was eerily quiet, the grand stone manor illuminated by flickering security lights that struggled against the howling wind. Several of Marco's private guards lay dead along the driveway, executed by rival factions who had already come seeking revenge for the leaked files.
We breached the heavy front doors with our weapons raised, slipping through dark, cavernous hallways lined with ancient tapestries and classical marble statues. Every shadow seemed to breathe with ghosts, but we pressed forward, following the faint scent of copper and expensive Cuban tobacco drifting down from the third-floor library overlooking the churning sea.
