Chapter 3 - THE PARTY IS OVER
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The roar of laughter and clinking crystal glasses vanished the instant I kicked open the ballroom double doors.
Every head in the room turned toward me.
Five hundred of the most dangerous men and women in the country stood frozen in their designer suits and diamond jewelry.
At the center of the room stood Marcus Kane, holding a glass of scotch and laughing with two Chicago lieutenants.
He saw the look in my eyes and his smile instantly dissolved.
"Declan!" Don Moretti called out, raising his glass with an oily grin.
"We thought you'd abandoned your own birthday celebration for a bottle of bourbon!"
I didn't look at Moretti.
I walked straight down the center aisle, the crowd parting like the Red Sea before an executioner.
"Party's over," I announced, my voice cutting through the massive hall like a razor blade.
A wave of confused murmurs rippled through the gathered mafia families.
"Everyone get out."
"Declan, what the hell is this?" Moretti demanded, stepping into my path with a scowl.
"We flew in from across the country for this summit!"
I stopped inches from Moretti's face, staring down at him with cold indifference.
"You have ten minutes to clear my driveway, Vittorio."
"After that, my perimeter guards will start shooting tires."
Moretti's face flushed crimson, but he saw the darkness swirling in my eyes and stepped back without another word.
The guests scrambled toward the exits in frantic whispers, sensing the scent of impending blood.
Marcus Kane tried to slip into the crowd of retreating bodyguards near the patio terrace.
"Marcus," I called out softly.
The single word stopped him dead in his tracks.
He turned slowly, forcing an innocent expression onto his sweat-sheened face.
"Boss?"
"Is something wrong with the perimeter security?"
I took two slow steps toward him, rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt to reveal the coiled black dragons inked into my forearms.
"Tell me about Tommy Davies."
Marcus's jaw twitched, and the color drained from his skin until he looked like a corpse.
"I... I don't know who that is, Boss."
"Lying to me in my own house was your final mistake."
Before Marcus could reach for the Glock concealed inside his jacket, my fist smashed into his jaw.
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The impact sounded like a baseball bat cracking through dry wood.
Marcus flew backward, crashing through a champagne tower and shattering hundreds of crystal flutes across the floor.
