Chapter 8 - Midnight at Midway
Rain poured over the tarmac at Midway International Airport, reflecting the harsh yellow floodlights of the private hangar complex. Fog hung low over the runways, muffling the distant roar of jet engines.
A Gulfstream G550 jet sat idling in front of Hangar Four, its turbines whining as flight crews performed pre-flight checks.
Inside a darkened warehouse three hundred yards away, I stood beside Dominic and Mateo, watching the hangar through tactical binoculars. Surrounding us were thirty of my most elite loyalists, armed with silenced submachine guns and tactical gear.
"Security is tight, Boss," Dominic reported, lowering his night-vision scope. "I count fifteen armed mercenaries around the perimeter. All East Coast personnel. They've got heavy body armor and automatic rifles."
"And inside the hangar?" I asked.
"There's a black sedan parked near the plane stairs," Mateo added. "Two men carrying briefcases went inside ten minutes ago. One of them matches the description of Don Carmine's Underboss, Frankie 'The Blade' Moretti."
"And Vanessa?"
"We haven't spotted her yet," Mateo said. "She might already be on the plane."
I lowered my binoculars. "We don't fire first if we can avoid it. If a firefight breaks out on airport grounds, the Federal Marshals will shut down the entire quadrant, and Carmine's lawyers will use the disruption to file the legal deeds electronically."
"So how do we breach?" Dominic asked.
"We cut the power," I commanded. "Mateo, take out the local transformer station behind Hangar Four. Dominic, the moment the lights go dark, your squad breaches the front entrance. I'm going in through the rear fuel depot."
"Boss, taking the lead is too dangerous," Mateo warned. "You're the head of the family."
"And a head of a family who hides behind his men isn't a boss—he's a coward," I said, checking the magazine of my Colt .45 and pulling the slide back with a satisfying clack. "Execute the plan."
Three minutes later, the floodlights illuminating Hangar Four flickered once, twice, and plunged into total darkness.
BOOM.
The transformer behind the hangar exploded in a shower of blue sparks.
"GO! GO! GO!" Dominic's voice echoed through our comms units.
Silenced gunshots shattered the night as my men moved with terrifying precision. Flashbang grenades detonated inside the hangar, blinding Carmine's mercenaries with deafening pops and disorienting white light.
I kicked open the rear service door of the hangar, stepping into the cavernous space. Shadows danced as tactical flashlights cut through the smoke. Mercenaries were shouting, weapons firing blindly in the dark.
I moved like a ghost through the machinery, dropping two armed guards with precise shots to the center mass before they could even turn their weapons toward me.
Near the jet stairs, Frankie 'The Blade' was frantically trying to shove a metal briefcase into the hands of a pilot.
"Frankie!" I called out, my voice cutting through the chaos.
Frankie froze, spinning around with a dark revolver drawn. But before he could pull the trigger, I fired two rounds. The bullets struck his wrist and shoulder, sending his gun and the steel briefcase skittering across the oil-stained concrete floor.
Frankie fell to his knees, screaming in pain, clutching his shattered wrist.
I walked up to him, kicking his revolver away, and picked up the steel briefcase. I popped the latches. Inside lay the original 1940 land deeds of the Chicago Docks, safe and unharmed.
"You're... you're too late, Mercer," Frankie gasped through gritted teeth, blood oozing through his fingers. "Carmine... Carmine already has the digital copies... the court filing goes through at midnight anyway..."
"Not without the original physical seal, he doesn't," I said coldly. "In Illinois maritime law, digital scans of pre-war deeds are invalid without the state notary stamp on the original parchment."
"Julian!"
A sharp, hysterical voice shrieked from the top of the jet stairs.
I looked up. Standing in the doorway of the aircraft, holding a small silver pistol with a shaking hand, was Vanessa Vale. Her clothes were disheveled, her makeup smeared, her former elegance completely destroyed by greed and madness.
"You ruined everything!" she screamed, her eyes wide and unhinged. "I was supposed to be the Queen of Chicago! I was supposed to own this city!"
"Put the gun down, Vanessa," I said quietly, looking up at her without a trace of fear. "It's over."
"It's never over!" she yelled, aiming the pistol directly at my head. "If I can't have Chicago, nobody will!"
BANG.
A single shot echoed through the hangar.
Vanessa's eyes widened in shock. She dropped her pistol, clutching her chest as a dark red stain bloomed across her silk blouse. She stumbled backward, falling onto the cabin floor of the jet, lifeless.
I turned around.
Standing fifty yards away, lowering a high-powered sniper rifle with a smoking barrel, was Dominic. He walked over, his face grim, and looked down at Frankie.
"Clear," Dominic reported softly. "The hangar is secured, Boss. Carmine's men are neutralized."
May you like
I closed the steel briefcase, holding the future of my family firmly in my grip.
"Call the Federal Prosecutor," I told Mateo, who had just joined us. "Tell him we have full evidence of international weapons trafficking linked directly to Don Carmine of New York. It's time to end the East Coast's reach once and for all."
