Chapter 6 - THE UNCLE’S BETRAYAL
Paul Voss looked every bit the distinguished elder statesman of Chicago's elite. He wore a tailor-made charcoal wool coat, a crimson silk tie, and carried a gold-topped walking cane despite having no visible limp. His silver hair was neatly combed back, and his expression held no guilt—only a cold, aristocratic disdain.
"Uncle Paul," Caleb said, his voice unnaturally calm. "You came down to check on your server."
"I came down to finalize my business, Caleb," Paul said, stepping down three stairs, his armed mercenaries fanning out behind him, their weapons aimed directly at Caleb, Mara, and the child. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to bring the maid and her little bastard. How touching. The righteous Caleb Voss, playing protector to the lower classes."
"You killed David Ward," Caleb said, taking half a step forward to block Elsie from the sightline of the rifles. "You pushed him into the river because he wouldn't help you rob my father's legacy."
Paul laughed—a sharp, barking sound that held no humor. "Your father was a dreamer, Caleb! He wanted to turn our family into legitimate real estate moguls! He wanted to pay taxes, hire accountants, and shake hands with politicians! He forgot that this city respects only one thing: violence and money!"
"And you have neither," a dark voice rasped from the shadows behind Paul's guards.
Before Paul's men could turn, a flash of motion erupted from the top of the cellar stairs.
Dominic Vance materialized like a demon born from the dark, wielding two combat knives with terrifying, military efficiency. In three seconds, he slit the throats of the two rear guards before they could even scream, sending their heavy bodies tumbling down the concrete stairs.
"AMBUSH!" Paul screamed, scrambling backward toward the upper doorway.
Jonah opened fire from behind a wine rack, his suppressed pistol barking three times in rapid succession. Two more guards dropped, their blood splattering across thousand-dollar bottles of Cabernet.
The cellar erupted into absolute pandemonium.
Gunfire shattered glass, filling the air with the rich, metallic smell of wine and gunpowder. Bullets chipped concrete off the walls, sending sharp shrapnel flying through the room.
Caleb didn't hesitate. He grabbed Mara and Elsie, throwing his massive body over them as he dragged them behind the heavy steel server rack.
"Stay down!" Caleb roared over the thunder of automatic weapons.
He drew his own weapon, leaning out from behind the rack, and placed two rounds directly into the chest of the remaining guard who was advancing on their position. The man collapsed dead onto the wet floor.
At the top of the stairs, Paul Voss was frantically trying to open the emergency exit door, his hands trembling as he typed his access code into the keypad.
"Vance!" Caleb shouted, reloading his pistol with a practiced, lightning-fast motion. "Cover the girl!"
"Go!" Vance barked back, firing a captured assault rifle up the stairwell to suppress the remaining gunfire.
Caleb charged up the concrete stairs like a wounded lion, his eyes locked onto his uncle's fleeing back.
Paul finally got the exit door open, ducking out into the alley fog. Caleb burst through the door seconds later, stepping into the freezing rain.
Paul stumbled against the brick wall of the alley, dropping his gold-topped cane into a puddle of dirty water. He pulled a small snub-nosed revolver from his coat pocket, turning to aim it at Caleb's face.
"Stay back, Caleb!" Paul screamed, his silver hair ruined by the rain, his eyes wild with terror. "I made this family! I built this city! You wouldn't be standing here if I hadn't let you live ten years ago!"
Caleb stopped five feet away. Rain poured down his face, dripping off his jawline, but his hand holding the gun remained as steady as an iron bar.
"What did you say?" Caleb asked softly.
Paul grinned—a sickening, desperate smile. "You think your father was killed by the Detroit syndicate? It was me, Caleb! I gave the Detroit boys his schedule! I opened his car door! He was weak, just like you! And I took what belonged to me!"
Caleb's eyes turned into cold black coals. The last remnant of familial love in his heart died in that frozen alley.
"Thank you, Uncle," Caleb whispered. "For making this easy."
THWACK.
Caleb didn't shoot him. He stepped forward, dodged the wild gunshot Paul fired into the air, and smashed the heavy steel butt of his pistol directly across Paul's jaw.
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Bones cracked. Paul's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed unconscious into the icy mud of the alleyway.
Caleb stood over his uncle's broken body, panting heavily in the rain, as the sound of police sirens began to wail in the distance—called not by Paul, but by Jonah Pike.
