Chapter 5 - The Ambush at the Pier
The warehouse at Pier 42 smelled of stagnant river water, rust, and cheap diesel.
Vincent walked through the broken industrial doorway flanked only by Dante and Leo, leaving his twelve-man tactical convoy staged two blocks away in the shadows. He wore his long wool overcoat, his hands buried deep inside his pockets, looking like a lone emperor stepping into an ambush.
Across the cavernous concrete floor stood Salvatore Moretti, a bloated, ruthless mob boss whose family had controlled the illicit narcotics pipeline into southern Illinois for three decades. Standing behind Moretti were twenty heavily armed mercenaries carrying submachine guns.
"You're late, Vincent," Moretti spat, tossing a half-smoked cigar onto the oil-stained concrete and crushing it beneath his boot. "I expected a man of your reputation to run faster when his empire is on fire."
"You called a meeting, Salvatore," Vincent replied calmly, stopping ten paces away. "Speak. I have breakfast plans in the morning."
Moretti threw his head back and laughed, a sickening, wet bark. "Breakfast? That's rich! Word on the street is the Great Marquetti has gone soft. They say you're playing daddy to some illegal maid's bastard child in your mansion."
Dante shifted his weight, his fingers tightening on his weapon, but Vincent lifted a single finger, commanding absolute stillness.
"Careful, Salvatore," Vincent warned, his voice dropping into that terrifying, quiet frequency that made grown men tremble. "You speak of my household."
"I speak of your funeral, Vincent!" Moretti sneered, raising his hand to signal his men. "We've had spotters outside your iron gates for three weeks. We know your daily patrol schedules. While you're standing here talking to me, my secondary hit squad just breached your perimeter. Your mansion is surrounded, Vincent. By sunrise, your house will be ash, your little maid will be floating in Lake Michigan, and Chicago belongs to the Moretti family!"
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Vincent didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He slowly pulled his right hand from his coat pocket, holding an encrypted titanium satellite radio.
He brought it to his lips and pressed the talk button. "Commander Hayes. Execute Protocol Omega."
