Chapter 11 - The Fall of the West Side
Dominic stepped forward, grabbed Arthur Vance by the collar of his expensive coat, and hoisted him off the floor with one hand.
He dragged the old mob boss to the large plate-glass window overlooking the burning pier.
Below them, the entire West Side empire was crumbling into ashes. The shipping containers were burning, Arthur’s men were disarmed and surrounded by loyal Gallo enforcers, and the sirens of distant police cruisers—bribed by Dominic’s political contacts to arrive late—were finally wailing in the distance.
“Your empire is gone, Arthur,” Dominic whispered into his ear. “Your daughter is broken. Your men are dead. And your name will be erased from every street in this city.”
“Please…” Arthur choked out, the arrogance entirely drained from his eyes. “Take the territory. Take the money. Just let me live.”
Dominic looked over at Thomas Russo, who was still weeping beneath the desk.
“Thomas,” Dominic called out.
Thomas looked up in terror. “Yes, Boss?”
“Pick up that gun on the floor.”
Thomas scrambled forward, picking up Arthur’s fallen .357 Magnum with shaking hands.
“If you want to walk out of this room alive,” Dominic commanded, “you finish what Arthur started. You execute your partner.”
Thomas didn't hesitate for a second. In the brutal logic of the underworld, survival eclipsed loyalty every single time. He leveled the barrel at Arthur’s chest.
BANG.
Arthur Vance collapsed onto the Persian rug of his own office, dead before he hit the ground.
Dominic turned back to Thomas Russo, his eyes cold and devoid of pity.
Nora didn't wait for Dominic to speak. She raised her suppressed weapon and put a single round through Thomas Russo’s forehead. Thomas slumped over the desk, lifeless.
Dominic looked at her with a raised brow.
“No loose ends,” Nora said simply, holstering her weapon. “He betrayed you once. He would have done it again.”
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Dominic couldn't help the slight, dark smile that formed on his lips.
“Remind me to let you handle human resources from now on.”
