Chapter 8 - The Detroit Threat
The meeting took place in an abandoned, drafty warehouse on the edge of the Chicago River—a classic spot for
mafia sit-downs where bodies could easily disappear into the dark, freezing currents.
Vincent sat at the head of a long, dusty wooden table. Dominic stood behind him, his hand resting casually near
his holster. On the opposite side of the table sat three men dressed in expensive, heavy wool coats. These were
representatives of the Detroit Syndicate, led by a ruthless enforcer named Victor Rossi.
"Vincent," Rossi said, lighting a cigar and blowing a thick cloud of blue smoke into the cold air. "We've been
partners with Marcus Ellison for ten years. His shipping lanes are how we move sixty percent of our product into
the Midwest. Now you freeze his accounts, lock him in some basement, and throw his daughter in a cage. That's
bad for business."
"Marcus Ellison tried to frame my woman and almost killed my son," Vincent said, his voice flat, dry, and
terrifyingly calm. "In Chicago, that carries a death sentence. The fact that they are still breathing is a courtesy I am
extending only until their assets are fully transferred to my name."
Rossi laughed, a cold, dry sound. "We don't care about your family drama, Kane. We care about our bottom line.
If you don't release Marcus and restore his shipping licenses by tomorrow morning, the Detroit family is going to
war with Chicago. We have fifty soldiers already in the city, waiting for my call."
Vincent didn't flinch. He slowly leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.
"Fifty soldiers," Vincent murmured. "That's a lot of men to lose in a single night."
Rossi's smile faltered. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Dominic stepped forward, tossing a tablet onto the table. On the screen was a live security feed of a high-end
hotel in downtown Chicago. Dozens of heavily armed men—Vincent's strike team—were shown systematically
entering the corridors and rounding up Rossi's hidden soldiers without a single shot being fired.
"You think you're the only ones who know how to play chess, Rossi?" Vincent whispered. "The moment your
men crossed the state line, my trackers were on them. They aren't waiting for your call. They are currently sitting in
zip-ties in the back of my delivery vans."
Rossi stood up, his hand reaching for his jacket pocket, but before his fingers could touch his gun, Dominic's
weapon was already pressed firmly against his forehead. The other two Detroit enforcers froze, their hands raised in
surrender.
"Sit down, Rossi," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
Rossi slowly sat back down, sweat breaking out on his forehead despite the freezing draft in the warehouse.
"Here is how this is going to go," Vincent said, leaning back in his chair. "You are going to call your boss in
Detroit. You are going to tell him that Chicago is closed to your shipments. If I see a single ounce of your product
in my state, I will personally visit Detroit and make sure your boss's seat becomes vacant. Do you understand?"
Rossi swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the gun still pointed at his head. "I... I understand, Vincent. We'll pull
back."
"Good," Vincent said. He stood up and buttoned his coat. "Dominic, escort our guests to the state line. Make
sure they don't get lost."
As Vincent walked out of the warehouse, the cold wind bit at his face, but he felt a sense of clean, absolute
May you like
control. The threats to his family were being systematically erased. He was clearing the board, making sure that
when Emma and Leo finally came home, there would be nothing left but peace.
