Chapter 6 - A Midnight Threat in the Rain and The Return of the Chicago Underworld
Midnight arrived over Lake Michigan in a torrent of freezing autumn rain.
Leaving four elite guards stationed outside Room 412 under Santino’s direct supervision, Adrian descended into the subterranean sublevels of the Chicago harbor district. The air down here smelled of rust, diesel fuel, and damp river silt.
Adrian stepped into the concrete basement holding an unlit cigar.
Tied to a rusted steel chair in the center of the interrogation chamber was Dominic Moretti—the nephew of Don Vittorio Moretti, the aging boss of the Southside Italian syndicate. Dominic was bruised, bleeding, but his sneer remained intact.
“Vale,” Dominic spat, blood dripping from his split lip onto his designer track jacket. “You think you can kidnap a Moretti without starting an all-out war?”
Adrian walked slowly toward him, his tailored suit completely dry, his eyes as black and fathomless as the midnight lake outside. He pulled a folding wooden chair up, sat down directly in front of Dominic, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You didn't just cross into my territory, Dominic,” Adrian said in a voice so calm it sounded like a funeral eulogy. “You fired automatic rounds in a residential street where an innocent woman and her five-year-old child were walking.”
Dominic laughed mockingly. “Oh, so the rumors are true! The great, untouchable Adrian Vale has gone soft for his little red-headed secretary! Vittorio will love hearing about this. Once we take her, you’ll hand over the lakefront shipping terminals in forty-eight hours!”
The laugh was cut short by the sickening sound of snapping bone.
Adrian didn't even stand up. In one lightning movement, his hand shot forward, gripped Dominic’s left index finger, and snapped it backward at a ninety-degree angle.
Dominic shrieked in agony, thrashing against the heavy ropes.
“Listen to me very carefully, Dominic,” Adrian whispered, leaning in until his lips were inches from the trembling man’s ear. “I am going to let you walk out of this basement alive.”
Dominic gasped through the pain, his eyes widening in terror and confusion. “W-What?”
“You are going to crawl back to your uncle Vittorio,” Adrian continued, his voice dripping with venomous ice. “You are going to tell him that if any member of the Moretti family mentions Claire Bennett’s name, looks in the direction of Rogers Park, or steps foot within five miles of Saint Jude’s hospital… I will not negotiate. I will not seek arbitration at the Commission.”
Adrian reached into his pocket and placed a single brass bullet directly into Dominic’s trembling, broken hand.
“Tell Vittorio that I will burn down every restaurant, every warehouse, every bank account, and every mansion belonging to his bloodline until nothing remains of the Moretti name but ashes in the Chicago River.”
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Adrian stood up, adjusting his silk cuffs.
“Untie him,” Adrian commanded his men. “Throw him onto the curb outside Vittorio’s estate.”
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