Chapter 7 - The Ambush at the River Docks
Dante didn't pull the trigger. Death was too quick an exit for a man who had attempted to burn down a home protected by blood oaths.
"Put him in zip ties," Dante commanded Vinnie, who stepped forward with thick industrial restraints. "Load him into the back of his own van. We have an appointment at the Calumet River."
By 1:15 AM, the storm had begun to recede into a thick, clinging mist that hovered over the industrial waterways of South Chicago. Three black sedans pulled into an abandoned cement factory bordering the sluggish, oil-slicked waters of the canal.
Marco Vitelli was dragged out of the van and forced onto his knees on the damp gravel. His expensive coat was soaked with muck, his swagger completely obliterated.
Dante walked slowly to the edge of the rusted pier, looking out over the dark water where freighters slept in the fog. He pulled Julianna’s burner phone from his pocket and tossed it onto the hood of the car in front of Marco.
"Julianna didn't just give you my schedule, did she?" Dante asked, turning his gaze toward the trembling syndicate boss. "She gave you the access codes to the offshore accounts my father established in Grand Cayman. She had the cipher key."
Marco swallowed hard, his throat clicking. "Dante, listen... we split it. Fifty-fifty. Vitelli territory on the West Side, all your shipping contracts... I’ll give you thirty percent of everything my family runs in Indiana. Just let me take a boat out of here."
Dante walked over until he was standing inches from Marco. "You broke the first rule of this city. You brought treachery into my private residence. You threatened the staff. You threatened a five-year-old child and her mother."
Marco blinked, confusion flashing across his terror-stricken face. "What? What child? What are you talking about? I don't give a damn about any kid!"
"That," Dante whispered, "is precisely why you failed."
Dante signaled to Vinnie. "Call Commissioner Hall. Tell him Marco Vitelli and six of his top captains are sitting at Pier 42 with three trunks full of unregistered automatic weapons and four kilos of uncut fentanyl from their West Side stash house."
Marco’s eyes bulged with horror. "Federal time? Dante, no! Shoot me! Don't hand me over to the Feds! That's life in Florence ADX!"
"A bullet makes you a martyr to your cousins," Dante replied, turning his back on him. "A federal indictment makes you a liability. Within forty-eight hours, your own family will strip your name off every business in Cook County to save their own skins. You will die an old, forgotten man in a concrete box in Colorado."
As the distant sirens of the Chicago Police Department and federal task force vehicles began to wail across the industrial bridge, Dante climbed back into the rear seat of his armored sedan.
"Where to, Boss?" his driver asked, putting the car in gear.
May you like
Dante looked at the dashboard clock. It was 2:30 AM.
"Michigan," Dante said quietly. "To the lake house. It's time to report back to my deputy."
