Chapter 8 - Ambush on the Outer HarborThe heavy double doors of the banquet hall swung open.
Ten elite tactical operators in black maritime body armor marched into the room, dragging six zip-tied mercenaries across the floor.
The mercenaries wore black tactical foul-weather gear, their faces bruised and bloody, their heavy assault rifles tagged as federal evidence in plastic bags held by Dante.
Behind them walked Julian Vance, his wrists secured in heavy steel handcuffs, weeping in hopeless, broken defeat.
The forty syndicate commanders in the pews stood up as one, drawing their concealed weapons, training thirty suppressed pistols directly onto Arthur Vance and his personal security detail.
In the underworld of the Midwest, business disputes were settled with negotiations. Turf was traded in contracts.
That was business.
That was the code.
But murdering a sovereign’s younger brother, burning an innocent boy alive in the harbor, and planning an armed ambush at an alliance banquet—that was an unforgivable treason that carried an immediate, permanent death sentence under the council charter.
Don Carmine Falcone, the oldest and most revered capo in Chicago, slowly pushed his chair back.
He walked down the side of the table, leaning heavily on his carved walking stick, his face set in lines of ancient, terrifying wrath.
He stopped beside Arthur Vance.
“Arthur,” Falcone rasped, his voice vibrating with ancient disgust. “You murdered Antonio Rossi’s youngest son? You brought outside hitmen to a Commission table?”
Arthur fell to his knees on the floorboards, clutching Falcone’s trousers in desperate, groveling supplication.
“Carmine! Listen to me! The Montreal cartel was squeezing our pharmaceutical routes! Julian Rossi was going to testify before the federal grand jury! If he talked, all of us were going to prison!”
“You don't murder a Rossi to save your own dirty skin, Arthur,” Falcone replied with absolute, chilling finality.
He turned toward Matteo.
“Don Matteo. The Commission recognizes the blood debt. The house of Vance is stripped of all charters, all territories, and all protection.”
Matteo nodded once.
He looked at Marco.
“Take Arthur, Camilla, and Julian Vance to the holding cells beneath Pier 14. Hand them over to Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance when the federal task force arrives at noon. Every port lease, every pharmaceutical patent, and every vessel operating under the Vance name is seized under the authority of the Outfit.”
Camilla shrieked, clawing at the floorboards, her ivory gown tearing against the wood as two armed guards hauled her backward down the center aisle.
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“Matteo! No! You can't do this! I was supposed to be the Donna of this city! I was supposed to wear your ring!”
Her screams echoed through the vaulted room until the heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her voice forever.
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