Chapter 2 - The Fire on Commercial StreetThe rain over Chicago’s South Side had turned into a blinding, razor-sharp sleet by the time my six black armored SUVs pulled up to the intersection of 4th and Commercial Street.
The district was an abandoned wasteland of rusted steel mills, crumbling brick warehouses, and dark industrial canals.
In the center of the intersection, surrounded by yellow police tape and flickering road flares, lay the crushed, twisted metal remains of Clara’s sedan. The driver’s side had been completely caved in by a heavy, military-grade steel bumper, the windshield shattered into a million sparkling diamonds against the wet asphalt.
I stepped out of the lead vehicle wearing a heavy black wool overcoat, my dark hair wet with freezing rain, my six-foot-two frame cutting a dark, terrifying shadow against the red flares.
Flanking me were Mateo and twenty of my most elite strike operators, their dark coats unbuttoned, their suppressed weapons held low at their sides.
Standing near the edge of the police tape, smoking a cigar under a large black umbrella, was Lorenzo Moretti—the fifty-eight-year-old boss of the South Side syndicate.
Lorenzo smirked as he saw me approach, taking a slow puff of his cigar, his dark eyes glittering with malicious satisfaction.
"Dominic Valente," Lorenzo greeted smoothly, his gravelly voice carrying over the sound of the freezing rain. "You brought a whole army to my territory just to look at a car crash? I heard your little wife didn't make it past the intersection."
Before Lorenzo’s guards could react, I closed the ten-foot distance between us in a fraction of a second.
I grabbed Lorenzo by his silk tie, my large, calloused hand tightening around his throat, slamming his broad frame flat against the hood of a idling police cruiser with a deafening CRACK.
"Dominic! No!" Lorenzo’s ten guards shrieked, drawing their weapons instantly.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
Mateo and my strike team moved with lethal, surgical speed, raising their suppressed firearms, painting red laser sights across the foreheads of every Moretti soldier on the street.
"Tell your men to drop their guns, Lorenzo," I whispered into his ear, my slate-gray eyes holding a cold, murderous fury that made the veteran mob boss go completely pale. "Or I will paint this intersection with your brains before your body hits the pavement."
Lorenzo swallowed hard, his throat working dryly against my iron grip. He raised his trembling hand, waving his men off. "Drop 'em! Drop the guns!"
The Moretti guards slowly lowered their weapons, setting them flat on the wet asphalt.
"I didn't order the hit, Dominic!" Lorenzo rasped out, tears of suffocation welling in his eyes. "I swear on my mother’s grave! The armored SUV that hit her... it wasn't one of mine! It belonged to a private security firm out of New York!"
I narrowed my eyes into dark flint. "New York?"
"Vance Global," Lorenzo choked out, clutching my wrist. "Charles Vance’s private enforcers! They rented a garage on 6th Street three hours before the crash! They were using my territory as a staging ground without my permission!"
My mind spun as the pieces of a terrifying, international corporate takeover slammed into place.
Charles Vance—the billionaire Chairman of Vance Global Logistics in Manhattan—had been trying to force a hostile merger with Valente Enterprises for six months. He knew that Clara held thirty percent of the voting equity in my holding trust—equity that her father had willed to her before his death.
If Clara died without an heir... her thirty percent equity would revert to a neutral probate trust, allowing Vance Global to execute a corporate raid on my shipping lines.
"Charles Vance..." I murmured, my voice dropping into a register so dark and cold it made the rain feel warm.
I released Lorenzo’s tie, letting him collapse onto the wet hood of the cruiser, gasping for breath.
"Mateo," I commanded cleanly, walking back toward my lead sedan.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?"
"Have our Manhattan team freeze Vance Global’s commercial debt notes in Zurich," I ordered, my eyes staring into the dark rain. "And tell the hospital that if my wife opens her eyes... I want to be the first face she sees."
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