Chapter 13
The subterranean holding cells beneath the Moretti industrial logistics facility on the edge of the Calumet River reeked of damp concrete, rust, and the metallic tang of dried blood. Far beneath the street level, the room was soundproofed with reinforced lead walls, completely cut off from the outside world. A single, harsh halogen bulb hung from a rusted conduit in the center of the ceiling, casting stark, dramatic shadows across the wet floor.
Bound to a heavy steel chair bolted into the concrete was Marcus. The enforcer’s flashy navy suit was shredded and stained with grease, his slicked-back hair matted with sweat and grime. His right arm was wrapped in crude, blood-soaked bandages where Dominic’s enforcers had methodically executed the boss’s orders, shattering every single bone in his hand and fingers. He breathed in ragged, agonizing gasps, his swollen eyes darting frantically toward the heavy steel blast door.
The heavy iron latch scraped loudly, and the door swung open.
Dominic Moretti strode into the chamber, moving with the silent, terrifying grace of an apex predator. He had shed his bespoke charcoal dress shirt, wearing now a fitted black tactical long-sleeve that accentuated the broad, lethal musculature of his chest and shoulders. The dark ink creeping up his neck seemed to pulse in the harsh halogen light. Behind him walked Vance, towering and immaculate in his dark suit, carrying a heavy metal clipboard and an unmarked ballistic briefcase.
Dominic didn't say a word. He walked over to a metal work table sitting against the wall, poured a measure of water from a pitcher into a paper cup, and drank it slowly. Every single movement was agonizingly deliberate, a psychological vice tightening around Marcus’s shattered nerves.
"Mr. Moretti... please," Marcus wheezed, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated terror. He tried to pull himself upright, but the agony in his mangled hand sent a violent shiver through his body. "I did what you said! You broke my hand! You said you’d let me leave the city!"
Dominic set the paper cup down. He slowly turned around, his piercing gray-blue eyes pinning Marcus to the steel chair like an insect on a needle.
"I said I would let you leave the city for the assault on the girl," Dominic murmured, his voice low, gravelly, and entirely devoid of mercy. "That punishment was personal. Now, we are going to discuss business."
Dominic stepped closer, his polished boots clicking rhythmically against the concrete until he was standing inches from the trembling enforcer. He leaned down, placing both of his large, tattooed hands on the armrests of Marcus’s chair, trapping the man in his suffocating presence.
"You told me Daniel Evans owed fifty thousand dollars," Dominic said softly. "You told me he was a degenerate gambler who skipped on a loan."
Marcus’s throat bobbed frantically. "He... he did! That was the paperwork I was given!"
Dominic’s hand moved with blinding speed. He gripped Marcus’s broken right wrist, applying just a fraction of an ounce of pressure to the shattered bones.
Marcus let out an ear-piercing shriek of pure agony, his body thrashing violently against the steel restraints as tears and sweat poured down his bruised face. "AAGHH! STOP! PLEASE, GOD, STOP!"
"Do not lie to me, Marcus," Dominic whispered into the man’s ear, his voice freezing cold. "Daniel Evans was my senior logistics auditor. He didn't gamble. He didn't take street loans. Salvatore Rossi sent you to eliminate him and secure a file. Speak, or I will peel the skin from your arm inch by inch."
Dominic released the wrist. Marcus slumped forward, sobbing hysterically, gasping for air as his vision blurred from the overwhelming pain.
"I didn't know it was an audit!" Marcus sobbed, the dam of his resistance completely collapsing. "I swear on my mother’s life, Boss! Sal called me three weeks ago. He said Evans stole an encrypted ledger from the terminal office—a ledger tracking off-the-books shipping containers moving through Pier 42!"
Dominic exchanged a dark, chilling glance with Vance. Pier 42 was Dominic’s primary international container terminal, handling multi-million-dollar shipments of European automotive parts and industrial machinery.
"What was in the containers, Marcus?" Dominic demanded, his jaw locking tight.
"Military hardware!" Marcus blurted out, terrified that another second of hesitation would invite more torture. "High-grade automatic rifles, night-vision optics, and tactical explosives! Sal has been running an illegal arms pipeline for a cartel out of Detroit! Evans found the manifest anomalies during a routine quarterly review. When Evans refused to take a bribe to falsify the books, Sal ordered a hit on him!"
"Where is Daniel Evans?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with an intensity that made the concrete room feel as though it were closing in. "Did Sal kill him?"
"No! No, he’s alive!" Marcus cried frantically. "Sal couldn't kill him yet! The ledger Evans stole had a secondary biometric encryption key. Sal has Evans locked in a decommissioned refrigerated shipping container at the South Side rail yard! They’ve been beating him for three weeks trying to get the password! Sal told me to find the kids because he thought Evans gave the backup drive to his daughter!"
Dominic slowly stood up to his full height. The sheer, colossal magnitude of the treason was laid bare before him. Salvatore Rossi—a man Dominic had elevated to capo, a man who sat at his table and swore allegiance to the Moretti family—had breached Dominic’s absolute rule against arms trafficking, compromised his legitimate logistics empire, and imprisoned an innocent accountant while sending hitmen to hunt down a starving eleven-year-old girl and an infant.
"Vance," Dominic said, stepping away from the chair and wiping his hands with a clean cloth.
"Boss," Vance answered, stepping forward.
"Call the strike teams. I want forty men mobilized at the perimeter of the South Side rail yard within the hour. Full tactical loadout. Suppressed weapons. No city police involvement."
"And what about Marcus, Boss?" Vance asked, nodding toward the weeping man in the chair.
Dominic didn't even look back as he walked toward the heavy blast door.
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"He hunted a child for money," Dominic said, his voice flat, icy, and final. "Leave him in the dark. If he survives the night, dump him in the river."
The steel door clanged shut, locking Marcus in the absolute darkness of his sins as Dominic Moretti walked out into the cold night, ready to unleash hell upon the traitors in his kingdom.
