Chapter 10 - The Commission Meeting|
At eight o'clock the following morning, the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago was filled with heavy smoke, dark suits, and armed bodyguards.
The Commission—the governing council of the five major syndicate families in the Midwest—sat around a massive oak table.
Don Carmine Genovese sat near the head of the table. He was a silver-haired man in his sixties, holding a heavy cigar, a triumphant, arrogant smirk resting on his scarred face.
"Raymond Lockwood is dead or dying," Genovese declared loudly to the eight assembled captains. "His shipping routes at Pier 14 are currently unmanned. Under Article Four of our charter, I move to seize control of the River North territory effective immediately."
"Seconded," a captain from the Genovese faction agreed instantly.
"Hold your vote, Carmine," a deep, booming voice echoed from the heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom.
The doors swung open.
Raymond Lockwood stepped into the room.
He wore a custom black suit, his dark hair brushed back, his posture broad, imposing, and completely erect. There was no limp, no sign of weakness, no trace of the bullet hole that had nearly killed him eight hours ago—save for the deathly pale tone of his skin under the crystal chandeliers.
Walking directly behind him was Marcus, flanked by six broad-shouldered Lockwood enforcers carrying automatic weapons under their coats.
The entire ballroom went dead silent.
Genovese’s cigar froze halfway to his mouth, his face turning pale as ash. "Lockwood...?"
Raymond walked steadily down the length of the long oak table, stopping right beside Genovese's chair.
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He leaned over the silver-haired Don, his gray eyes burning with pure, unadulterated murder.
"I hear you were looking for my nurse, Carmine," Raymond whispered softly, his voice echoing off the high ceilings like a death knell.
