Chapter 4 - Blood and Brotherhood
The South Branch project was a massive, unfinished luxury development sitting on the edge of the Chicago River.
Concrete pillars jutted into the night sky like the ribs of a dead leviathan.
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, washing the mud and gravel into the dark water below.
Marcus stood in the center of the main floor, surrounded by twenty heavily armed men.
He checked his watch. 2:00 AM.
He gripped his pistol, his eyes scanning the shadows.
“Keep your eyes on the perimeter,” Marcus ordered. “He’ll come through the front.”
Suddenly, the floodlights illuminating the construction site went pitch black.
The generator hummed, sputtered, and died.
Total darkness consumed the building.
“Flares!” Vance yelled.
Red emergency flares were cracked and tossed across the concrete floor, casting eerie, blood-red shadows against the walls.
Thump.
A body dropped from the scaffolding above, landing heavily on the concrete.
It was one of Marcus’s snipers.
Before anyone could react, the staccato roar of suppressed automatic gunfire echoed through the cavernous space.
Marcus’s men began dropping.
There was no shouting, no battle cries.
Just the clinical, terrifying efficiency of men who hunted in the dark.
“Fire!” Marcus screamed, raising his gun and shooting blindly into the shadows.
The muzzle flashes illuminated the chaos.
Adrian’s men were moving like phantoms, picking off Marcus’s crew one by one.
Vance grabbed Marcus’s arm. “We have to go! We’re sitting ducks!”
“I’m not running from him!” Marcus roared, shoving Vance away.
A bullet caught Vance in the throat.
He collapsed, gurgling blood onto Marcus’s expensive shoes.
Silence slowly returned to the concrete floor.
The gunfire ceased.
The red flares hissed, burning low.
Marcus stood alone in the center of the room.
His gun was raised, his chest heaving, his eyes darting frantically in every direction.
Out of the darkness, a single set of footsteps echoed.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Slow, deliberate, entirely unafraid.
Adrian Vale walked into the red light.
He wasn’t wearing a tactical vest. He wasn’t holding a rifle.
He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, his coat open, a simple handgun resting casually by his side.
He looked completely relaxed.
“Hello, Marcus,” Adrian said.
His voice was calm. It carried over the sound of the rain.
Marcus aimed his gun directly at Adrian’s chest.
His hand was shaking.
“You’re a fool to come here alone,” Marcus spat, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I’m not alone,” Adrian replied softly. “I brought the ghost of my wife.”
Marcus laughed, a frantic, hollow sound.
“Evelyn was weak, Adrian. She made you weak. You were going to give up everything your father built. You were going to become a soft, legitimate businessman. I couldn’t let that happen. The empire needed a king, not a family man.”
“So you killed her,” Adrian said, stating a fact, not asking a question.
“I saved you!” Marcus yelled. “I took away the distraction! Look at you now! You’re ruthless again. You’re the man you were supposed to be!”
Adrian looked at his best friend.
He remembered the fifteen years of loyalty. He remembered Marcus saving his life in an alley in Detroit. He remembered Marcus giving a toast at his engagement party.
It all felt like a movie he had watched a long time ago.
“You didn’t save me, Marcus,” Adrian said softly.
May you like
He raised his gun.
“You just woke me up.”
