Marco Betrayal The Guardian of Queens

We breached the grand mahogany interior doors of the Lake Forest mansion like a tempest.

With Carlo leading us through the secret corridors he had mapped out over three years, our team swept through the ground floor with lethal speed and efficiency.

"Clear!" Tony barked as three of Salvatore’s personal security guards were disarmed and neutralized in the grand marble foyer before they could even raise their weapons.

"Upstairs!" Carlo yelled, guiding us up the grand curved staircase toward the third-floor executive suite.

On the third-floor landing, the remaining six Chicago hitmen attempted to lay down a heavy wall of fire to defend their boss's study. Bullets tore through the expensive oil paintings and plaster walls, sending clouds of white dust filling the corridor.

"Frankie, lay down suppressive fire!" I ordered.

Frankie stepped into the hallway, firing his submachine gun in controlled bursts, forcing the hitmen to duck behind the marble columns.

I gestured to Bruno. "Bruno! Flank left!"

The massive dog bounded forward, slipping through an open side doorway that led into an adjacent library. He sprinted through the library, bypassed the corridor choke point entirely, and burst out behind the enemy position.

*SNARL!*

Bruno launched himself onto the chief security officer, tackling him into a heavy wooden cabinet. The remaining hitmen panicked, turning their weapons toward the dog, but before they could shoot, Carlo and I rounded the corner, taking down all four shooters with precise double-taps.

The hallway fell dead silent, filled only with the smell of spent cordite and dust.

"Clear!" Carlo shouted, checking the last downed shooter.

At the end of the long hallway stood the heavy, reinforced oak double doors of Don Salvatore’s private study.

I stepped up to the door, raised my heavy combat boot, and slammed it directly into the lock mechanism.

*BOOM!*

The double doors burst open, crashing against the interior walls.

Don Salvatore was standing behind his massive oak desk, clutching a heavy gold-plated revolver in his shaking right hand. On his desk sat two open leather suitcases filled with stacks of hundred-dollar bills and false passports.

When he saw me enter, flanked by Carlo, Tony, and Bruno, his jaw dropped in absolute, horrifying shock.

"Carlo?!" Salvatore gasped, his face turning as white as a sheet. "You... you were dead! You’re working with him?!"

"I never worked for you, Salvatore," Carlo said, stepping into the room with his gun leveled at the old man’s chest. "I was just waiting for my cousin to come to Chicago."

Salvatore’s eyes darted frantically around the room, realizing every single one of his guards was gone, his estate was captured, and his escape helicopter was never coming.

"Gabriel..." Salvatore whimpered, his gold-plated gun trembling violently in his hand. "Listen to me... we can make a deal! Thirty million dollars! I’ll hand over the entire Outfit to you! You can be the supreme Don of New York and Chicago!"

I walked slowly across the Persian rug, stopping five feet from his desk.

"You tried to burn my city, Salvatore," I said softly, my voice cold as absolute zero. "You tried to murder a seven-year-old girl to protect your profits. You destroyed families for fifty years."

"I am a member of the National Commission!" Salvatore screamed, his voice cracking with pathetic desperation. "You can't execute me! It’s against the code!"

"The Commission is dead, Salvatore," I said, pulling out the small drawing little Elena had given me at the airport and placing it gently on his desk. "And so is your code."

Salvatore looked down at the child’s drawing of the big black dog and the little girl.

He dropped his gold-plated revolver onto the desk, his knees buckling as he collapsed back into his executive leather chair, weeping like a child.

"Don't shoot me..." Salvatore sobbed, covering his face with his hands. "Please... don't shoot me..."

I looked at Carlo and Tony.

"We aren't going to shoot him," I said quietly.

Salvatore peeked through his fingers, stunned. "You... you aren't?"

"No," I replied, pulling a satellite phone from my coat. "Because three minutes ago, the FBI Organized Crime Task Force entered your front gates. They have three years of encrypted evidence provided by Carlo detailing every murder, extortion, and illegal operation you’ve ordered since 1995."

In the distance outside the mansion windows, the wailing sirens of twenty law enforcement vehicles began to echo through the foggy woods of Lake Forest, surrounded by flashing red and blue lights.

"You’re going to spend the rest of your life in the cell right next to Corrado and Harris," I told him as I walked toward the doorway. "Enjoy the company."

As federal agents swarmed into the house, Carlo, Tony, Frankie, Bruno, and I walked out the side entrance into the crisp morning air of Lake Michigan.

The war with Chicago was over.

The ghosts of the past were laid to rest.