Chapter 8 - The Shadow's End
Falcone panicked.
He reached frantically into his shoulder holster, pulling a nickel-plated .45 pistol, aiming it straight at Vincent’s chest.
"I'll take you with me, Romano!" Falcone roared.
Before Falcone’s finger could squeeze the trigger, Vincent drew his weapon with breathtaking speed.
BANG!
A single, loud gunshot echoed through the high-ceilinged ballroom.
Falcone froze, his eyes widening in shock. A small, neat red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He stumbled backward, his gun slipping from his fingers, before crashing heavily onto the marble floor beside the grand dining table, dead before he hit the ground.
Panic flared for a brief second among Falcone's remaining guards, but Vincent’s bodyguards instantly raised their submachine guns, locking the room down entirely.
Vincent didn't even look down at Falcone's body. He slowly re-holstered his pistol, adjusted his dark tie, and turned to look at the remaining ten crime bosses seated around the table.
"Sal Falcone's territories are now under the direct control of the Romano family," Vincent stated calmly, his dark eyes sweeping over every face in the room. "If anyone has an objection, speak now."
Not a single boss moved. Not a single voice was raised. They all bowed their heads in silent, complete submission to the undisputed king of Chicago's underworld.
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Vincent turned, holding out his hand toward Lydia. "Let's go home, Lydia."
Lydia placed her hand in his, feeling the warm, solid strength of his grip. They walked out of the grand ballroom together, leaving behind the shattered remnants of an empire that had tried to destroy them.
