Chapter 7 - The Chicago Threat
I watched as Alexander walked over to the secure wall console, pressing a button to route the call through the gym’s encrypted speaker system.
“Put him on speaker, Marcus,” Alexander commanded.
A harsh, raspy voice filled the subterranean room, carrying the distinct cadence of the Chicago underworld.
“Well, well, Il Lupo,” Victor Moretti’s voice mocked through the speaker. “I hear through the grapevine that your engagement to Victoria Lane just blew up in spectacular fashion. Poor little rich girl packed her bags for London. Does this mean the Ashford empire is looking for new alliances... or new weaknesses?”
Alexander’s jaw clenched, but his voice remained deadpan and chillingly calm. “My personal life is none of your concern, Moretti. And if you’re calling to test New York’s borders, I suggest you check the freight manifests from your last three shipments into Brooklyn. My men intercepted them yesterday.”
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the speaker. Moretti’s sarcastic tone vanished, replaced by seething fury. 🐈⬛
“You seized my cargo?!” Moretti roared. “Those containers were worth four million dollars!”
“Consider it a tax for trying to muscle into my territory while my back was turned,” Alexander replied smoothly. “Tell your captains in Chicago that if I catch another one of your scouts within fifty miles of Manhattan, I won't just seize your cargo—I’ll send them back in pieces.”
“You arrogant bastard!” Moretti hissed. “You think because you rule New York you’re untouchable? I’m sending my top enforcer to your hotel grand reopening gala this Friday night. Let’s see how tough you are when blood is spilling across your expensive marble floors.”
Click.
The line went dead.
Silence hung heavy in the gym. I looked at Alexander. His face was like carved granite, but his eyes burned with a dangerous, calculating fire.
“Friday night is the annual Ashford Hospitality Gala,” Alexander explained, turning to me. “Every major international investor, hotel partner, and syndicate boss will be in attendance. Moretti is planning to make a statement.”
“And you’re going?” I asked.
“I have to,” Alexander said. “If I back down, every street punk from here to Chicago will think the Ashford empire is weak. But Moretti’s enforcer... they call him The Butcher of Cicero. He fights dirty, uses brass knuckles and hidden blades, and leaves no witnesses.”
I stepped forward, rolling my shoulders. “Then it’s a good thing you started learning the Quiet Current today.”
Alexander looked at me, surprised. “Sophia, I didn't bring you into this world to fight my gang wars.”
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“You didn't bring me into anything, Alexander,” I corrected him, using his first name with quiet confidence. “I chose to stay. My father gave his life to protect you. If some thug from Chicago thinks he can walk into your hotel and destroy everything my father bled for, he’s going to have to get past me first.”
Marcus Vance, who had just walked into the gym, let out a booming laugh. “Boss, I like her. She’s got Miguel’s fire.”
