Chapter 9 - The Gathering of Wolves
At 11:45 PM, a convoy of five black armored vehicles pulled up to the abandoned iron foundry on the Brooklyn waterfront.
The building was massive, a relic of the nineteenth century with towering brick smokestacks and broken glass windows that reflected the cold moonlight off the East River.
Inside, thirty men in dark suits stood in a circle around a long steel table.
At the head of the table sat Lorenzo Vance. He was sixty-five years old, with slicked-back white hair, sharp blue eyes, and a face scarred by fifty years of brutal street politics.
Standing behind Lorenzo were eight armed bodyguards, their hands resting on the grips of their concealed weapons.
The heavy iron doors of the foundry groaned open, echoing like a thunderclap through the cavernous space.
Dante Vance walked in alone.
He wore his dark charcoal suit, his wool coat draped over his shoulders, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. He did not bring Viktor. He did not bring guards. He walked into a room filled with thirty armed enemies as if he were taking a midnight stroll through his own garden.
"Dante," Lorenzo sneered, his voice raspy from decades of cigars. "You walk into my house without an escort? You've grown arrogant in your old age, nephew."
"This isn't your house, Lorenzo," Dante said smoothly, stopping ten feet from the table. "This is an abandoned pipe factory that costs twelve thousand dollars a year in back taxes. Sit down."
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with fury. "You seized eighty million dollars of Chicago capital at the New Jersey docks tonight! You broke the 2018 peace accord!"
"I froze Arthur Monroe’s bank because his daughter assaulted my wife," Dante said flatly.
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the gathered captains around the table.
"Your wife?!" Lorenzo laughed—a harsh, barking sound. "You brought down an eighty-million-dollar shipping line over a waitressing girl you picked up in a hospital basement?! Are you out of your mind, Dante?!"
Dante took three slow steps forward.
The eight bodyguards behind Lorenzo immediately reached into their coats, but Dante didn't even look at them.
"Speak about my wife again, Lorenzo," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made the concrete floor seem to vibrate beneath their boots. "And I will not just seize your shipment. I will drown every ship in your fleet before the sun rises."
Lorenzo stood up, slamming his heavy fists onto the steel table. "You think you command this city alone?! The council votes tonight! Four of the five families are standing behind me! We have two hundred soldiers posted across the borough right now!"
Dante pulled his hands from his pockets. He pulled out a small, silver remote control and pressed a single red button.
The heavy steel shutters along the high factory windows suddenly slammed down with a deafening CLANG-CLANG-CLANG.
High above on the iron catwalks, thirty men in heavy tactical gear, armed with silenced submachine guns, stepped into view. Every red laser sight on their weapons descended simultaneously, painting thirty bright red dots directly onto Lorenzo’s chest and the chests of his lieutenants.
Dante laid the remote control on the steel table.
"Correction, Lorenzo," Dante murmured softly. "You had two hundred soldiers across the borough fifteen minutes ago. Before my men offered them fifty thousand dollars each to go home and take the night off."
Lorenzo looked up at the catwalks, his face draining of all color as he realized every single laser sight in the room was trained on his heart.
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"You... you bought my soldiers?" Lorenzo gasped.
"I didn't buy them," Dante replied smoothly. "I gave them a choice between a bonus and a grave. They chose the bonus."
