Chapter 8
"You always were too arrogant for your own good, Rafael," Beatrice’s voice crackled through the encrypted line. She sounded breathless, the pouring rain faintly audible in the background, but the venom in her tone was as sharp as ever.
"You found a payphone faster than I anticipated, Mother," Rafael replied smoothly, his voice a low, intimidating rumble. "I assume you are calling to apologize?"
"I am calling to give you one final opportunity to reverse your catastrophic mistake," Beatrice spat. "I am standing in a diner with a man who reports directly to the Chicago commission. They are highly interested in the structural weaknesses of your northern supply routes. Weaknesses I am intimately familiar with."
"You are selling out your own family to a rival syndicate because you couldn't stand seeing a little girl in a medical brace," Rafael stated, the disgust palpable in his crisp American accent. "You are exactly the traitor I always knew you were."
"I am preserving the empire!" Beatrice shrieked through the static. "If you do not send a car for me right now and reinstate Julian as the heir, I will hand Chicago the keys to the city. You will be dead by morning, and that crippled child will be sent to an orphanage!"
Rafael’s jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained against the collar of his dress shirt. "Listen to me very carefully, Beatrice. The moment you hung up that phone, the Chicago commission became my enemy. If they send men to my gates, I will slaughter them. And if I ever see your face within a hundred miles of my daughter, I will not banish you a second time. I will put you in the ground."
"You are a fool, Rafael! They are already moving!"
Rafael slammed the receiver down, cutting off his mother’s frantic screaming. He took a deep breath, smoothing the front of his tailored vest. He turned to Silas, his dark eyes blazing with absolute, lethal clarity.
"Chicago is moving," Rafael commanded. "Mobilize the entire garrison. I want snipers on the roof, barricades at the main gate, and the heavy weapons brought up from the armory. Nobody sleeps tonight."
Silas nodded, his hands flying across the communication console. "I'll issue the red alert. Do we pull the men back from the docks?"
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"Leave a skeleton crew at the docks," Rafael decided. "Chicago will use the docks as a distraction. Beatrice wants the house. She wants the throne. The main assault will be right here at the front door."
The bright, cinematic colors of the strategy screens flickered as the estate's external lighting shifted into lockdown mode. The vivid white floodlights bathed the manicured lawns in blinding clarity. The war had officially begun.
