Chapter 11 - Defiance in the Dark and a City Torn Apart
Chloe woke up tied to a heavy wooden chair in an abandoned warehouse smelling of rusted iron, gasoline, and damp saltwater.
A single overhead bulb flickered above her. Standing in front of her was Salvatore Valenti, holding a glass of bourbon, accompanied by his surviving hitmen.
“The little waitress,” Valenti sneered, walking around her chair. “You cost me a lot of money, sweetheart. But now, you’re going to give me everything Dominic Moretti owns.”
Chloe spat the blood from her lip onto the concrete floor. She stared directly into the eyes of the mafia boss, refusing to show a single trace of fear.
“Dominic is going to kill you,” she said, her voice steady and venomous. “He’s going to tear your entire world apart, and there won't be enough of you left to bury.”
Valenti laughed, a harsh, barking sound. “Dominic took two broken ribs and a concussion from that truck. Even if he’s breathing, he doesn't know where you are. By noon, he will sign over his docks and his territories in exchange for your life. And once he signs... I’ll put a bullet through both of your heads.”
Meanwhile, fifteen miles away in downtown Boston, the city was burning.
Dominic had refused medical treatment beyond a field medic stitching his head wound. He stood inside his tactical operations room, surrounded by fifty heavily armed soldiers.
Every contact, every corrupt police chief, every harbor informant had been dragged into interrogation rooms across the city. Dominic was unleashing total, unrestricted war.
“Boss, we found the truck,” Leo reported, slamming a tablet onto the desk. “Registered to a shell company owned by Valenti’s nephew. GPS tracking placed the vehicle at the abandoned naval shipyard in Quincy twenty minutes ago.”
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Dominic picked up a heavy assault rifle, racking the bolt with a sharp, metallic click.
“Get the convoy ready,” Dominic commanded, his eyes burning with an unholy, terrifying rage. “Leave no one standing.”
