Chapter 6 - The Ambush at Pier 42
The rain began to fall in sheets across the industrial wasteland of Chicago’s South Side docks. Steam rose from the asphalt as two black armored trucks pulled into Pier 42, their headlights cutting through the thick morning fog. A dozen heavily armed mercenaries dressed in tactical gear stood beside an open cargo container, waiting to load the crates of bearer bonds and untraceable bullion Carlo had promised them.
Tommy Vane, Carlo's right-hand enforcer, stepped out of the lead transport, checking his Rolex. "Where the hell is Rossi?" he growled into his radio. "He was supposed to confirm the perimeter clearance ten minutes ago."
Static crackled across the frequency, followed by a voice that made Tommy’s blood run cold. "Carlo had an unexpected breakfast appointment, Tommy. He won't be joining you."
Before Tommy could scream an order to scatter, the floodlights of three massive shipping cranes flared to life simultaneously, bathing the entire pier in blinding white light. From behind the shipping containers, three dozen Moretti soldiers emerged, submachine guns raised, cutting off every escape avenue toward the river.
Dante stepped forward through the blinding rain, clad in a long black trench coat, completely unprotected by body armor. He walked with the effortless authority of a man who owned the ground beneath their feet. Alongside him walked Marcus, carrying a tactical tablet that had shut down the ignition switches on both armored trucks with a single keystroke.
"Drop the iron," Dante said, his voice easily carrying over the rhythm of the falling rain. "Or every drop of blood spilled here will be wiped clean before the harbor patrol even smells the gunpowder."
Tommy looked around frantically. His men were outmatched, outpositioned, and stripped of their vehicles. One by one, the mercenaries tossed their rifles onto the wet pavement, raising their hands in surrender. Tommy cursed, drawing a snub-nosed revolver from his waistband in a suicidal burst of rage, aiming straight for Dante’s chest.
A single shot echoed across the harbor. Tommy collapsed onto the wet gravel, clutching his shattered shoulder, screaming in agony. Marcus lowered his sidearm, the barrel smoking faintly in the damp air.
Dante walked up to the fallen enforcer, looking down at him with utter indifference. "Evan Hayes begged for his family’s safety before you threw him in the river. Did you give him a chance, Tommy?"
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Tommy spat blood onto Dante’s shoe, panting heavily. "It was Carlo’s plan... he swore you'd never find out... the cameras were clean..."
"Nothing is clean when you steal from an innocent child," Dante said. He turned to Marcus. "Hand them over to the federal authorities. Anonymously. Along with all the documentation on Carlo's private syndicate. Let the government dismantle the rest of Carlo’s network. We have an empire to clean up."
