Chapter 8 - Into the Lion’s Den
The Chicago Outfit’s primary headquarters downtown looked like an impregnable fortress of glass and concrete, looming over the riverfront like a monolith of corporate corruption. But tonight, it was about to become a war zone.
Vincent Marchetti didn't roll up in an ordinary convoy. Three matte-black armored SUVs tore through the security gates of Vance’s shipping warehouse, smashing through the chain-link barrier as if it were tissue paper. Before the guards on duty could even unholster their weapons, Dominic and twelve heavily armed tactical operatives swarmed the courtyards, neutralizing resistance with surgical precision.
Inside his top-floor executive suite, Marcus Vance was pouring a glass of scotch when the heavy mahogany doors were blown entirely off their hinges with a deafening blast.
Smoke rolled across the polished marble floor. Through the haze stepped Vincent Marchetti, his black overcoat billowing behind him like the wings of a dark angel, a cold, dead-eyed expression carved into his face.
Vance dropped his glass, the amber liquid shattering across the floor as he scrambled backward toward his mahogany desk, reaching for a golden pistol tucked into his waistband.
"Marchetti!" Vance choked out, his face twisted in sheer panic. "You... you’re supposed to be dead! The car bomb—"
"A three-year-old girl ruined your masterpiece, Marcus," Vincent said smoothly, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate strides. He didn't even draw his weapon; he simply stared down at Vance with a terrifying, predatory calm. "And now, you're going to pay the tab."
Vance yanked the golden pistol free, raising it with a shaking hand. "I’ll send you straight to hell—"
Before Vance’s finger could squeeze the trigger, a heavy blur of motion flashed through the room. Dominic lunged forward, striking Vance’s wrist with a brutal, lightning-fast blow. The golden pistol clattered across the marble floor, spinning away into the shadows.
Dominic grabbed Vance by the collar of his expensive suit, slamming him hard against the reinforced glass windows overlooking the glittering city skyline. The glass spider-webbed outward under the impact, groaning dangerously over the hundred-foot drop below.
Vincent walked up slowly, stopping just inches from Vance’s terrified face. He reached out, gently straightening Vance’s silk tie with mock politeness.
"You targeted my home," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "You threatened an innocent woman and a child."
"It’s—it’s just business, Vincent!" Vance gasped, his breath fogging the cracked glass as he stared down at the dizzying drop below. "It’s nothing personal!"
"That’s where you're wrong, Marcus," Vincent replied softly. "In my world, family is the only thing that matters. And you just declared war on mine."
May you like
Vincent stepped back, nodding once to Dominic.
"Pack him up," Vincent ordered coldly. "And make sure the federal prosecutors receive every encrypted ledger, financial transfer, and audio file we’ve collected over the last five years. Let’s see how much business Marcus can run from a federal supermax prison."
