Chapter 10
The lakeside ballroom, once a vibrant, cinematic display of high-society elegance, had been fully transformed into a grim, heavily armed war room. The bright lights still shone down, but the music had been entirely replaced by the metallic clacking of assault rifles being loaded and the harsh, low voices of capos coordinating logistics.
Bennett stood at the head of the ruined banquet table. He had discarded his wine-stained shirt, replacing it with a fresh, crisp black dress shirt, though he left the top buttons undone, the artistic, negative-space tattoos on his neck and chest visible once more. He looked out over the fifty elite enforcers gathered before him.
"Maroni believes. He is untouchable," Bennett said, speaking slowly to the silent room. His voice was a low, mesmerizing cadence that commanded absolute loyalty. "He believed he could reach into my home. And take my children."
Bennett placed his tattooed hands flat on the mahogany table, leaning forward. His cold, sharp eyes bored into the men.
"Tonight, we ride to Chicago," Bennett continued, every sentence measured, cold, and dangerous. "We do not knock on his front door. We use the money he sent to purchase the loyalty of his security chiefs. We walk through the back door. And we burn his empire to the ground with him inside it."
A low, unified murmur of agreement rumbled through the ranks. These were men who lived and died by the strength of their Boss, and Bennett had just demonstrated that his strength was absolute and terrifying.
"Load the transport vehicles," Bennett ordered. "We leave in ten minutes."
The men dispersed instantly, rushing toward the armories and the garage.
Bennett turned away from the table and walked out of the ballroom. He navigated the bright, opulent hallways of his estate, his polished leather shoes carrying him toward the secure security control room where his children were hiding.
He tapped his family signet ring against the heavy steel door. "Marcus. Open it."
The heavy deadbolts clicked, and the door swung inward.
Inside the small, monitor-lined room, Milo, Nora, and Tess were huddled together on a leather sofa. They were holding hands, their fair, rosy faces pale but brave.
"Daddy!" Tess cried, scrambling off the sofa and running to him.
Bennett knelt down, catching his three-year-old daughter and pulling her tightly against his chest. Milo and Nora rushed over, wrapping their small arms around his neck. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of their hair, feeling the overwhelming, fierce rush of paternal love that fueled the monster inside him.
"Are the bad people gone, Dad?" Milo asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"They are gone, Milo," Bennett promised softly, kissing the boy's forehead. "And I am going to make sure they can never, ever come back."
He held his children for a long moment, anchoring himself to the only thing in the world that mattered. When he finally stood up, the warmth vanished from his eyes, replaced entirely by the cold, lethal resolve of a Mafia king.
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He walked out of the control room, the heavy steel door closing securely behind him. He stepped out into the cool night air, walking toward the convoy of armored black SUVs waiting in the driveway. The engines rumbled in the darkness, ready to carry him to Chicago.
The war to protect his bloodline had just begun.
