Chapter 16
Capone's Reckoning
With Gunns gone, Capone stands victorious. But the weight of his crown feels heavier than ever. He surveys the devastation and the losses.
The acrid sting of gunpowder still clung to the air, a phantom limb of the chaos that had just subsided. King Capone stood on the rooftop, the city sprawled beneath him like a bruised and broken thing. Sirens wailed in the distance, a mournful symphony to the fallen. Gunns was gone. Vanquished. His ambition, a wildfire that had threatened to consume everything, had been extinguished. Yet, the victory felt hollow, a king’s ransom paid in blood and bone.
Capone ran a hand over the rough wool of his jacket, the fabric somehow feeling heavier than usual. The weight wasn't just in the material; it was in the silence that had descended, a silence pregnant with the ghosts of men who had only hours ago been breathing, laughing, fighting. He saw them, flashes of memory: Rico, his grin wide as he boasted about a hit; Tiny, his massive frame a shield for the younger YNs; and even Marcus, the kid who’d always been a little too eager, his eyes burning with a desperate need to prove himself. All gone.
His lieutenant, a man named Silas whose face was a roadmap of past battles, approached cautiously. Silas was Capone’s shadow, his most trusted advisor, a man who rarely spoke unless it was to deliver vital information or a grim truth. Tonight, his silence was heavy too.
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