Chapter 7 - The Trap is Set
By five o'clock that evening, the Chicago news networks were exploding with frantic headlines. Leaked reports claimed that the legendary Matteo Lombardi had gone into hiding following a devastating split within his organization, and that his rival factions were openly seizing his assets across the city.
Inside a high-end luxury suite overlooking Michigan Avenue, Marcus Vance sat at a glass desk, pouring himself a glass of expensive scotch. He was watching the television broadcasts with a wide, triumphant grin.
"It's over for him," Marcus muttered to himself, taking a slow sip. "The king is dead."
His encrypted phone buzzed on the desk. He picked it up immediately. "Senator Vance."
"Is the situation contained, Marcus?" Senator Raymond Vance's stern voice spoke from Washington D.C. "The media is calling it a mob war. The federal task force I paid off is ready to step in and seize Lombardi's assets under emergency federal statutes."
"Everything is going exactly as planned, Uncle," Marcus boasted arrogantly. "Matteo’s organization is fractured. His top captains are panicking. Right now, fifty million in bearer bonds and untraceable cash are sitting in the main basement vault of the Old Union Bank. I'm taking my tactical unit in to secure it right now."
"Do it quickly," the Senator warned. "Leave no loose ends. And ensure Matteo Lombardi never speaks to a federal grand jury."
"Consider it done," Marcus sneered, ending the call.
An hour later, a fleet of three black armored vans pulled into the alleyway behind the historic, abandoned Old Union Bank building in downtown Chicago. Twelve heavily armed mercenaries in unmarked black combat gear stepped out, led personally by Marcus Vance.
Using stolen master keycards and override codes he had procured during his years as Matteo’s head of security, Marcus bypassed the bank’s outer security perimeter with ease. The mercenaries moved silently down the grand marble staircases, descending three floors into the dark, reinforced subterranean basement where the syndicate's master vault was located.
"Set the thermite charges on the vault door frame," Marcus commanded, gesturing toward the massive twelve-ton steel door. "We blow the locking mechanism and clear out the cash in ten minutes."
"That won't be necessary, Marcus," a voice echoed through the dimly lit concrete hallway.
Marcus spun around, his weapon raised, as floodlights suddenly flashed on with blinding intensity, illuminating the entire basement level.
Standing at the end of the hallway, flanked by twenty elite Lombardi enforcers and Dante Caruso’s personal strike team, was Matteo Lombardi. He looked completely immaculate, dressed in a sleek black suit, his eyes burning with absolute, uncompromising authority.
Behind Marcus, a massive hydraulic steel blast door slammed down from the ceiling with a deafening thud, completely sealing off the exit alleyway.
They were trapped in a subterranean box.
"Drop your weapons!" Paulie screamed, stepping forward with a heavy combat rifle pointed directly at Marcus's chest.
The twelve mercenaries, recognizing instantly that they were hopelessly outgunned and surrounded in a fatal pinch point, slowly lowered their rifles and dropped to their knees, raising their hands into the air.
"You idiots! Fire! Shoot them!" Marcus screamed frantically, pulling out his pistol.
Before Marcus could raise his arm, Matteo fired a single, precise shot from his suppressed weapon. The heavy bullet struck Marcus directly in the right shoulder, shattering the joint and spinning him violently to the cold concrete floor. His gun skittered away into the shadows.
Matteo walked over slowly, his polished dress shoes clicking rhythmically against the concrete floor. He stood directly over his former security chief, looking down at the agonizingly writhing traitor with cold indifference.
"You always were impatient, Marcus," Matteo said quietly. "You thought power was something you could just steal. But you forgot the most important rule of this city."
Marcus clutched his bleeding shoulder, tears of pain and terror streaming down his pale face. "Matteo... please! It was my uncle! Senator Vance made me do it! He promised me total control of the docks! I'll tell you everything! I'll give you his private bank accounts!"
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Matteo crouched down, pulling a sleek black recording device from his inner jacket pocket. It was actively transmitting.
"Thank you, Marcus," Matteo whispered with a cold smile. "Senator Vance was listening to this entire broadcast through our wiretap. He just heard you confess to everything."
