Chapter 8 - The Siege of Sector Four
Downtown, the old fish market was bathed in the red and blue flashing lights of police cruisers—though none of the officers dared to step foot inside the perimeter until Vittorio’s men gave the all-clear.
Sal Moretti and a dozen of his top enforcers had walked straight into the warehouse, expecting an abandoned stronghold and vulnerable cargo. Instead, they found iron shutters slamming shut behind them, plunging the cavernous interior into pitch darkness, followed by the blinding sweep of tactical floodlights.
The confrontation was swift, brutal, and entirely one-sided. Vittorio’s men, hardened and fiercely loyal, dismantled the Moretti syndicate’s leadership in less than twenty minutes without firing a single lethal shot—a calculated mercy ordered directly by Vittorio himself.
Sal Moretti was pinned against a stack of wooden crates by two enforcers, his nose bleeding, his expensive suit ruined by warehouse dust and oil.
Vittorio stepped out from the shadows, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt, looking as calm as if he were strolling through a garden.
"You made a mistake, Sal," Vittorio said quietly, stopping a few feet away. "You brought a personal vendetta into my home."
"You're getting soft, Bellandi!" Moretti spat, laughing hysterically through bloodied teeth. "Hiding behind cooks and safe houses! You think you rule this city? Someone else will take my place tomorrow!"
"Let them try," Vittorio replied coldly. "But you won't be around to see it."
He gestured to Marcus, who stepped forward with a heavy leather briefcase containing every financial record, illicit transfer, and extortion file linking the Moretti family to federal offenses.
"We aren't going to kill you, Sal," Vittorio said, his voice dripping with absolute contempt. "That's too easy. Instead, federal authorities are going to receive an anonymous tip containing every single document in this case. By morning, you and your captains will be spending the rest of your natural lives in a maximum-security federal penitentiary."
May you like
Moretti’s face drained of all color. The bravado vanished instantly, replaced by a paralyzing, absolute terror. "You... you're handing us to the feds?"
"I'm reclaiming my city," Vittorio said, turning his back on him. "And then... I'm going home to dinner."
