Chapter 6 - The Trap at the Foundry
The Commission meeting was called at an abandoned iron foundry on the south side of Chicago—a neutral, industrial fortress where major mafia disputes had been settled for half a century.
Outside, the snow fell heavily, blinding the guards standing along the rusty catwalks.
Inside, six dark-suited bosses of Chicago’s major crime families sat around a rusted steel table lit by overhead industrial lamps.
Don Vanezzi walked in flanked by six heavy hitters, including his arrogant son, Lorenzo. Vanezzi carried himself with a smug, triumphant smirk, convinced that his mercenary strike had left me crippled or dead.
When the side doors opened, Dominic pushed my wheelchair into the light.
I wore a immaculate black three-piece suit. I looked pale, but my eyes were sharp as diamond blades.
Vanezzi’s smirk flickered, but he quickly recovered, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, Adrian. Glad to see you survived the... unfortunate incident at your estate last night. Rogue elements, no doubt."
"Rogue elements paid from your son's private crypto wallet, Emilio?" I asked smoothly, raising an iPad and sliding it into the center of the table.
Lorenzo Vanezzi went pale.
The older bosses on the commission leaned forward, inspecting the transfer logs, bank affidavits, and the sworn confession from the mercenary captain Dominic’s team had interrogated earlier that morning.
The head of the Commission, Old Man Moretti-no-relation, Don Carmine, looked up at Vanezzi, his expression disgust. "Emilio... you sent unsanctioned hitters into another boss's home? You targeted a woman and an innocent child?"
"It's a lie!" Lorenzo shouted, reaching for his weapon. "Moretti faked those documents!"
"Quiet, boy!" Don Carmine barked.
"I didn't come here for the Commission to vote, Carmine," I stated calmly, reaching into my jacket pocket.
Vanezzi’s guards immediately drew their weapons, but before they could raise them, the high windows of the foundry shattered inward.
GLASS CRASHING!
Red laser sights flooded the room, locking instantly onto the chests of Vanezzi, his son, and all six of their men. Fifty of my top marksmen, backed by Dominic’s tactical strike team, appeared on the catwalks above, weapons aimed straight down.
"You brought us into a trap!" Vanezzi screamed, standing up frantically.
"No, Emilio," I said, wheeling myself closer to him while the other syndicate bosses wisely backed away, hands raised. "I brought you to your trial."
I pulled out a recording device and pressed play.
A raspy, panicked voice filled the room—it was Vanezzi’s former mechanic from 2004, testifying on audio tape how Emilio Vanezzi had paid him ten thousand dollars to cut the brake lines on my father’s car two decades ago.
Vanezzi slumped into his chair, his eyes wide with absolute, pathetic horror. "Adrian... please. It was business! Your father was taking over the whole city! We had no choice!"
"My father considered you a brother," I said, my voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute finality. "And for twenty-two years, I blamed myself for his death. I lived in a personal hell while you enjoyed your wine and your mansions."
I looked at Don Carmine. "Does the Commission object?"
Don Carmine slowly shook his head, taking a step back. "The blood debt is yours, Adrian. The Vanezzi family is finished."
I raised my hand, looking Vanezzi dead in his weeping eyes.
May you like
"For my father," I whispered.
I lowered my hand.
