The crew slipped through the gym's back door, and the roar of the crowd vanished like someone hit mute.
The hallway was dim and damp, reeking of bleach, stale sweat, and cracked leather; total opposite of the flashy world out front.
Uberman's assistant hustled ahead, popped open a cramped break room, and everyone filed in.
Door slammed shut.
Uberman's big friendly mask dropped like a cheap Halloween prop.
He yanked his tie loose, jowls sagging, eyes turning sharp and icy. All that buddy-buddy warmth? Gone.
Didn't even wait for chairs. He marched to the middle of the room, spun around, and started barking like he still owned the block:
"Victor, first off; today's ceremony was a win. The public needs to see us as one big happy family, so they know how much I've done for you!"
Then the tone flipped, dark and heavy. "But I've been hearing some troubling chatter about what's going down in your little Chinatown lately.
This Sri mess? It's all over the news. Bad look. Infighting, violence; it's wrecking community stability and making my job a nightmare. I'm extremely unhappy."
He leaned in, trying to loom like the big-shot politician schooling a street punk.
"Turn Sri over. Let him come back and run things again…"
Classic bully-with-a-badge routine.
Too bad he picked the wrong guy, wrong room.
Victor didn't even glance at him.
He shrugged off his tailored suit jacket, slow and deliberate, hung it on the rack like it mattered more than the councilman.
Then he rolled his neck; crack.
Eyes flat, cold as a frozen lake.
Frankie; right on cue; jammed his M9 into the assistant's mouth.
"Councilman Uberman," Victor said, voice low but slicing clean through the bullshit. "No press, no cameras. Drop the act."
Uberman blinked, face flushing purple. "What the hell is this attitude? I'm talking serious business! Community stabil—"
"Stability?"
Victor cut him off, a razor-thin smirk. "When you were banging Veronica from the office to the hotel, then hired a hitter to wipe out her whole family; where was community stability then?!"
Every word landed like a haymaker.
Uberman went from red to ghost-white, hands shaking. "You… you're threatening me? Do you have any idea—"
"I know everything."
Victor stepped forward. Same height, but built like a brick wall; his shadow swallowed the guy. "Every dirty contract you funneled, every kickback, every gambling debt, every side chick. I own your secrets."
Dead silence.
Frankie casually cleaned his pistol inside the assistant's mouth, grinning like a kid with a new toy.
Blair's eyes glinted behind his glasses, scribbling notes; adjusting the playbook on the fly.
Jimmy stood coiled, ready to pounce, staring holes through Uberman and his guy.
"Sri's gone," Victor continued, voice flat, final. "Left Chicago. Left this planet. Don't bother praying; Jesus can't help him. I said so."
He raised two fingers.
"So here's the deal. Two choices."
"One: We burn it all down. I walk from the game, dump everything; yours and mine; to the Chicago Tribune and the FBI. We both go down. You lose your career, your freedom, maybe worse. I go back to the streets or start fresh somewhere else. You know I'll do it."
Sweat beaded on Uberman's forehead. Mouth opened; no sound.
Victor wiggled the second finger. "Two: We partner up. You're not my boss anymore. We're equals. I bankroll your campaigns; whatever seat you want, or whoever you pick.
You use your juice to help when I need it; steer investigations, fast-track permits. Win-win."
"You… this is extortion! Shameless!"
Uberman hissed through clenched teeth, shaking with rage; but the fear in his eyes sold him out.
His whole castle of cards crumbled in front of this kid.
"Shameless?"
Victor finally smiled; predator spotting the trap snap shut. "Weren't you the one out front, on camera, calling me 'Chicago's pride'? Who's the real piece of work here, Councilman? Pick. Hell together, or cash together?"
Long, heavy silence.
Just Uberman's wheezing.
Dignity, fury, terror, greed, dread of ruin; all twisting across his flabby face.
He glanced at Victor's dead-calm eyes, then flicked to Frankie, Blair, Jimmy; silent statues of menace.
He knew he was out of moves.
The second Victor took out Sri and consolidated power; or hell, the second Uberman dipped into the dirt and Victor grabbed the receipts; the game was over.
Today's welcome ceremony? Last desperate flex to pretend he was still in charge.
Total failure.
He deflated like a punctured tire, shoulders sagging, all swagger gone.
Swallowed hard, voice raspy: "…Partnership. I choose partnership."
Victor nodded; no gloating, no extra humiliation. Just business.
"Michael, snap a photo. Commemorate our friendship."
Michael raised the camera.
"Blair, bring your notes."
Blair slid the paper in front of Uberman, even rolled out the ink pad like a concierge.
Victor tapped the line: "Right here. Sign it."
Uberman signed.
Victor took the paper, handed it to Frankie.
"Smart move, Councilman. Blair handles the money and follow-ups. You need anything, you know where to find us."
Done deal.
Uberman nodded like a broken bobblehead, couldn't meet Victor's eyes.
Victor turned to Blair, voice cool and clipped: "Blair, new outfit; TWC Security. Put Uberman's name on it. He's our 'community advisor' and 'safety advocate.'"
Blair dipped his head, smirking like a chess master. "Got it, Victor. The councilman's reputation will make us look… legit."
Uberman's last drop of color drained.
He got it. This wasn't just a title. It was a brand. A leash.
From now on, his name was welded to Victor Li's shadow empire.
No more "occasional dirty favor" politician. He was in it; a flag to wave, a shield to draw fire.
Traded independence and dignity for safety, cash, maybe a bigger ladder; built on blood and bodies.
But Victor still had to smooth the edges.
Frankie holstered the M9, then stuffed two fat stacks of bills into the assistant's pocket. "For your nerves."
Victor pulled out a check and two cards, handed them over:
"Councilman, our 1985 token of appreciation. VIP card for your favorite hotel; use it worry-free. Plus $300K goodwill. Blair will swing by later with more."
Uberman staggered out with his assistant, looking like a whipped dog.
As they hit the door, Victor called after him: "Oh, and I just hired Ms. Nasha for the company. Hope that's cool."
Uberman froze, turned back, face pure panic.
Victor smiled, cold. "Relax. She and the kids will be just fine."
Uberman's exit was a mess; nothing like the cocky strut he came in with.
Break room emptied to just Victor's crew.
Frankie finally cracked up. "Man, that old fart almost pissed himself."
Jimmy rolled his shoulders, tension easing.
Victor didn't laugh. He walked to the window, watched Uberman's car slink away like a kicked mutt.
Face still stone, but a flicker of exhaustion deep in his eyes.
Blair stepped up, voice low: "Pricey play, but necessary. With his banner, doors open. Cops'll back off for a while."
"He knows too much," Victor said. "But we need him more. Watch him, Blair. Meter the donations; keep him hungry, not stuffed."
A beat. "And keep digging. More dirt. He needs to know partnership's a one-way street. No off-ramp."
"Yes, Victor."
Blair got it. This wasn't checkmate; just the opening move in a bloodier, twistier game. No bell to save you.
Victor turned, slipped back into the expensive suit, morphed into the city's fresh-faced hero; then dropped the line that proved he was anything but:
"Start scouting rising stars in City Hall. Ones who need our kind of help. We can't put all our eggs in Uberman's greasy basket."
Only they knew what lurked under that crisp suit: ice-cold resolve and a darkness that ran miles deep.
Chicago wind still bit hard; but it had switched direction.