Chapter 11 - The Grand Continental
The Grand Continental Hotel pierced the stormy night sky like an obsidian spire. On the fiftieth floor, in the grand ballroom with floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the flooded metropolis, twenty crime lords sat around an enormous mahogany banquet table.
Declan stood at the head of the room, impeccably dressed in a gray bespoke three-piece suit. His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed, his hands resting lightly on the carved back of an empty leather chair.
“Valerio Moretti was a relic of his father’s stubbornness,” Declan declared, his voice smooth and persuasive as he addressed the assembled bosses. “He hoarded the ports, he choked your supply lines, and tonight, his arrogance brought an end to his lineage. The girl is dead. Val is drowning in the harbor.”
Murmurs of uneasy approval rippled across the table. Men exchanged glances, eager for territory yet deeply unsettled by the swiftness of the Moretti downfall.
“So,” Declan smiled, raising a crystal glass filled with dark bourbon. “We divide the harbor three ways. The transit routes open tomorrow. A toast to new management.”
May you like
As the men lifted their glasses, every light in the grand ballroom snapped off simultaneously.
The massive chandelier above the table hummed down to absolute darkness, plunging the fifty-story room into pitch black. From the center of the ceiling, the glass dome shattered inward with an earth-shattering boom.
