Chapter 6 - The Summit at the DocksThe rain was pouring down in sheets when our three black SUVs pulled up outside an abandoned grain silo along the Chicago River docks—the neutral ground where syndicate disputes were traditionally settled. The wind howled off Lake Michigan, driving the freezing autumn rain sideways across the concrete yards.
Inside the cavernous, dimly lit warehouse, a dozen armed men stood in a semicircle around a steel shipping container. In the center stood Viktor Valentina, a slick, silver-haired man in an expensive cashmere coat who smiled with all the warmth of a shark.
“Salvatore!” Viktor called out, spreading his arms wide as we walked in. “I wondered when the great deaf king of the west side would finally show up to negotiate his own funeral!”
Salvatore didn't say a word. He walked forward with slow, terrifying deliberate steps, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black wool coat. Marco and I flanked him closely, along with four of his best security enforcers.
Viktor chuckled, stepping forward with his lead lawyer trailing behind him. “You brought your new little girlfriend to a sit-down? What’s the matter, Sal? Did your accountants quit on you?”
Salvatore stopped ten feet away from Viktor. His face was a mask of cold, absolute stone. Without breaking eye contact with Viktor, Salvatore raised his hands and signed fluidly to me, while his voice—low, gravelly, and controlled—cut through the echo of the warehouse.
“Tell him,” Salvatore commanded aloud, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
I stepped forward, lifting my chin, and spoke clearly into the damp, echoing air of the warehouse.
“Mr. Valentina is currently violating the 2024 territorial accord,” I announced, my voice steady and clear. “His front corporation, V-99 Logistics, attempted to frame the Marquetti Foundation through falsified embezzlement ledgers. Furthermore, federal securities investigators have already been provided with the complete paper trail linking his offshore accounts to the bribes paid to the city council members.”
Viktor’s smug smile faltered instantly. His eyes darted to Salvatore, then back to me, panic flickering across his face. “That’s a lie! You have no proof!”
“We have the encrypted server logs from your own warehouse router in Cicero,” Salvatore signed, his fingers moving with sharp, merciless precision as he stepped directly into Viktor’s personal space.
Marco stepped forward, tossing a heavy silver hard drive onto the concrete floor right at Viktor’s feet. It clattered loudly against the stone.
“You have forty-eight hours to pull your men out of the western shipping lanes, surrender your municipal contracts, and leave Chicago entirely,” Salvatore signed, his dark eyes burning with lethal authority. “Or I won’t just let the feds handle you. I’ll dismantle your entire operation brick by brick until there is nothing left of the Valentina name.”
Viktor stared down at the hard drive, his face draining of all color. He knew he had been completely outplayed. The trap he had set to destroy the Marquetti Foundation had snapped shut around his own neck.
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“You’re making a mistake, Marquetti,” Viktor snarled, backing away slowly toward his men.
“No,” Salvatore signed with a cold, terrifying smile. “I’m just cleaning my city.”
