Chapter 9 - The War in the Streets
The elevator plummeted toward the ground floor, leaving the burning penthouse far above.
Vincent slumped against the metal wall, his breathing ragged and terrifyingly shallow.
"He will survive that fire," Vincent rasped, clutching his bleeding chest.
"Rico is like a cockroach."
"He will send every single man on his payroll to hunt us down."
Mary tore a strip of fabric from her scrub top and pressed it firmly against his seeping wound.
"Then we need to run, Vincent."
"We need to leave Chicago right now and never look back."
Vincent looked into her desperate eyes and slowly shook his head.
"I ran away from my father ten years ago, and it cost me you."
"I am not running away from my own city."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, encrypted satellite phone.
"Carlo was right about one thing."
"I forgot that I am a wolf."
Vincent dialed a secure number, his face hardening into a mask of pure, ruthless determination.
The line connected immediately.
"This is Vincent," he said into the receiver, his voice shockingly strong.
"Rico Castellano just murdered my father and a federal agent in my home."
"Execute Protocol Omega."
He hung up the phone and looked at Mary.
"What did you just do?" she asked, a chill running down her spine.
"I just unleashed hell," he answered simply.
The elevator doors opened into the massive underground parking garage.
They stepped out, moving cautiously between the rows of luxury vehicles.
Suddenly, the deafening sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the street level above them.
Explosions rocked the foundation of the building, sending dust raining down from the concrete ceiling.
Vincent's loyalist factions, the men who truly bled for him, were violently tearing Rico's mutinous army apart.
The war for Chicago had officially begun in the streets.
A sleek, black armored sedan sped around the corner of the garage, screeching to a halt right in front of them.
The driver kicked his door open.
It was Marcus, Vincent's oldest and most trusted bodyguard.
"Get in, Boss!" Marcus yelled over the sound of the distant explosions.
They scrambled into the backseat of the armored vehicle.
"Take us to the safehouse on the river," Vincent ordered.
Marcus floored the accelerator, smashing through the wooden security gate of the garage.
They tore through the chaotic streets of the city, watching the empire violently cleanse itself.
By the time they reached the heavily fortified safehouse, the radio confirmed the grim truth.
Rico's forces had been completely decimated by the loyalists.
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Rico himself had vanished into the night, severely burned but alive.
Vincent had officially reclaimed his bloody throne.
