Chapter 8 - The Battle at the Docks
At 2:00 a.m., a heavy fog rolled off Lake Michigan, cloaking the industrial dockyards of South Chicago in a dense, ghost-like white haze.
Inside an abandoned steel warehouse near the mouth of the river, Anthony Moretti—the head of the Moretti syndicate—sat in the back of an armored sedan, surrounded by fifteen heavily armed men. His face was pale, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Where is the convoy?” Moretti demanded frantically into his phone. “Why haven't the trucks reached Lincoln Park yet?”
“Boss, the bridges are blocked!” a panicked voice screamed through the speaker. “Vance’s crew locked down the South Side! Falcone’s men are turning us back on the highway! We’re surrounded!”
Before Moretti could scream an order, the heavy corrugated steel doors of the warehouse were shattered inward by two heavy tactical trucks.
Blinding white spotlights cut through the fog, illuminating the warehouse interior like a stadium.
Dozens of armed men in dark tactical gear poured into the building, securing every exit with military precision.
From the lead truck, Zo Rossi stepped out into the bright light. He wore a dark tactical coat, holding a heavy sidearm at his side, his face carved out of pure stone. Beside him stood Gabe and twenty of the Rossi family’s top security operatives.
Anthony Moretti scrambled out of his sedan, his hands shaking as his men frantically raised their weapons, vastly outnumbered and completely trapped.
“Rossi!” Moretti yelled, his voice cracking with fear. “This is a violation of the commission! You can’t do this!”
Zo walked forward slowly, his heavy boots echoing off the concrete floor, entirely unbothered by the guns pointed at him.
“You broke the commission the moment you put money on a hit inside my house, Anthony,” Zo said, his voice icy and clear. “You thought Marco was your key to Chicago. You thought my estate was weak.”
Zo stopped ten feet away from the trembling rival boss.
“Drop your weapons,” Zo commanded flatly, looking at Moretti’s men. “Anyone who drops their gun now walks out of this city alive tonight. Anyone holding a weapon when I count to three stays in this concrete floor forever.”
The silence in the warehouse was suffocating.
“One,” Zo said calmly.
Three of Moretti’s men immediately threw their rifles onto the concrete, raising their hands in the air.
“Two,” Zo continued.
The rest of the guards dropped their weapons instantly, stepping away from Moretti with their hands high. They knew when a war was lost.
Anthony Moretti stood alone, looking around at his abandoned crew in pure horror. He reached for his pocket pistol in a desperate, foolish last attempt—
BANG!
A single, precise shot from Gabe’s rifle shattered the concrete at Moretti’s feet, sending him dropping to his knees, weeping in total defeat.
Zo walked up to the kneeling boss, looking down at him with utter contempt.
“Your territory is gone, Anthony,” Zo said quietly. “Your assets are seized. Federal agents are currently raiding your home with wiretap evidence provided by your own lieutenant. You’re going away for a very long time.”
May you like
Zo turned his back on the broken man, walking toward his vehicle.
“Clean this up, Gabe,” Zo ordered calmly. “I have to get back home.”
