Chapter 4 - The Trap Set for Dominic Salerno
The rain lashed violently against the reinforced windows of the lake house, matching the dark, turbulent mood inside. While Hannah rested upstairs under the watchful protection of Marcus and a trusted detail of guards, Vincent stood by the panoramic window, his cell phone pressed tightly to his ear.
“Is the wire transfer complete?” Vincent asked, his voice cold as ice.
“Yes, Mr. Duca,” a synthesized, secure voice replied from the other end. “All offshore accounts associated with Dominic Salerno have been frozen and routed through federal holding accounts. His syndicate partners in New York have been notified of his financial insolvency.”
“Good,” Vincent replied. “And the shipping terminals?”
“Under our total control. Salerno’s men have surrendered their keys.”
Vincent hung up the phone just as heavy footsteps approached behind him. He turned to see Marcus walking into the study, a grim satisfaction playing on the edges of his mouth.
“Boss, we got a ping on Dominic’s burner phone,” Marcus reported, holding out a secure tablet. “He’s moving. He took a small convoy of four vehicles toward his private warehouse down by the South Chicago docks. He thinks he’s going to intercept our transport logs and sell your location to the New York Commission.”
Vincent’s lips curled into a cold, dangerous smile. “He walked right into the spider’s web.”
“Do we intercept him on the highway?” Marcus asked, his hand resting on his holster.
“No,” Vincent replied smoothly, grabbing his heavy wool coat from the back of the chair. “Let him get to the warehouse. Let him think he has the upper hand. Tonight, we finish this once and for all. We reclaim everything that was stolen from my family twenty-four years ago—and we ensure Dominic Salerno never sees the sunrise.”
Twenty minutes later, a fleet of three unmarked black SUVs tore through the stormy Chicago night, racing toward the dilapidated industrial docks.
Inside the central warehouse, Dominic Salerno paced back and forth across the concrete floor, a smug grin plastered across his face. He held a secure satellite phone, waiting for his contact in New York to confirm the wire transfer that would effectively strip Vincent Duca of his empire.
“Any minute now,” Dominic muttered to his lead enforcer, a hulking brute named Viktor. “Once New York buys the file on Duca’s lost heir, Vinnie’s own men will turn on him. We won't even have to fire a shot.”
CRASH.
The massive steel roll-up doors at the front of the warehouse didn't just open—they were blown off their heavy industrial tracks by a synchronized breaching charge.
Sparks rained down in a blinding shower of white-hot light.
Before Dominic’s men could even raise their weapons, flash-bang grenades detonated across the rafters, filling the cavernous space with deafening concussive blasts and blinding white smoke.
“Ambush!” Viktor screamed, scrambling for cover behind a stack of wooden crates.
Through the thick smoke walked Vincent Duca, flanked by Marcus and a heavily armed tactical squad. Vincent’s trench coat billowed behind him in the cold draft blowing in off the lake. He didn't rush. He walked with the terrifying, inevitable grace of an executioner.
Dominic stumbled backward, his face draining of all color as he scrambled to pull a pistol from his waistband.
“V-Vincent!” Dominic stammered, raising the shaking barrel of his gun. “You’re making a mistake! New York knows I’m here! If you kill me—!”
Before Dominic could pull the trigger, a single gunshot rang out, shattering the concrete floor inches from his boots. Marcus’s assault rifle was locked dead onto Dominic’s chest.
Vincent stopped just five feet away, his expression entirely devoid of mercy.
“New York isn't answering your calls, Dominic,” Vincent said smoothly, stepping closer. “Your accounts are frozen. Your docks are mine. And your little blackmail scheme died the second you thought you could use a member of my family as leverage.”
Dominic dropped his weapon with a loud, metallic clatter, falling heavily to his knees in surrender. “Spare me, Vinnie! We’re partners! We can share—”
“We were never partners,” Vincent interrupted, raising his own pistol and pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Dominic’s forehead. “You were just a temporary tenant in a city that belongs to me.”
A single muffled gunshot echoed through the empty docks.
May you like
Vincent stepped back over the fallen body, sliding his weapon back into its holster with chilling calm.
“Clean this up, Marcus,” Vincent ordered, turning toward the exit where the rain had finally begun to slow. “And bring the car around. It’s time I took my daughter home.”
