Chapter 6 - War in the Streets
By 10:00 PM, Chicago’s lakefront had become a battleground.
Under the cover of a thick mountain fog rolling off Lake Michigan, thirty dark SUVs loaded with heavily armed Hale Syndicate enforcers swept through the industrial districts of Hammond and South Chicago.
Cormack didn't stay behind in a safe house. He sat in the reinforced rear seat of a black Cadillac Escalade, wearing a tactical vest over a black turtleneck, his Kimber .45 resting in his hand.
Beside him sat Uncle Dominic, the silver-haired consigliere, quietly adjusting a silver pocket watch.
“You’re taking a massive risk, Cormack,” Dominic said quietly as the SUV sped down the deserted highway. “Federal authorities are already monitoring the noise from the hospital. If this turns into a full-scale bloodbath, the FBI will move in on both our families.”
“Let them move in,” Cormack said, racking the slide of his pistol with a heavy, satisfying clack. “Aurelio threatened my daughter, Dominic. There is no political solution to this. There is no negotiation. There is only survival.”
Dominic sighed, looking out the tinted window at the passing city lights. “You’ve changed, boy. Twelve hours ago, you were calculating profits and strategic marriages. Now you look like your father did when the Moretti family tried to touch your mother.”
“My father died because he was too soft,” Cormack said coldly. “He gave his enemies second chances. I won't make that mistake.”
The Escalade screeched to a halt outside a massive, fenced-in industrial compound near the Calumet River—the primary distribution center for the Salcedo cartel’s narcotics operations in North America.
Outside the gates, smoke was already rising into the night sky. Viktor and a squad of twelve Hale enforcers had breached the outer perimeter, suppressing the cartel guards with silent, tactical precision.
Cormack stepped out of the vehicle, his dark coat whipping in the cold wind. He walked through the shattered iron gates, stepping over discarded weapons and defeated guards, his face a mask of absolute authority.
Inside the main warehouse, crates of contraband were piled three stories high.
Viktor rushed up to Cormack, wiping sweat and gunpowder residue from his forehead. “Boss! We took the building. Aurelio isn't here—he’s hiding at his private estate in Lake Forest, guarded by fifty of his core men. But we found El Alacrán.”
Viktor pointed toward the center of the warehouse.
Tied to a heavy steel pillar was El Alacrán, the cartel’s top enforcer. His face was bloody, his tactical vest ripped open, but his dark eyes burned with defiant hatred as Cormack approached.
Cormack stopped three feet away, looking down at the wounded gunman.
“Where is Aurelio?” Cormack asked quietly.
El Alacrán spat blood onto Cormack’s black boots, letting out a wild, raspy laugh. “Go to hell, Hale! Aurelio is already sending a strike team to the hospital! By the time you get back, your little whore and your bastard baby will be burning in hell!”
Cormack didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice.
He simply reached down, drew his pistol, and aimed it directly between El Alacrán’s eyes.
“You chose the wrong family to cross,” Cormack whispered.
THWIP.
The suppressed pistol coughed once. El Alacrán’s head snapped back, his body going completely limp against the steel pillar.
Cormack lowered the weapon, turning to Viktor without looking back.
“Burn this warehouse to the ground,” Cormack ordered coldly. “Destroy every crate, every vehicle, every dollar in this room. Then call the Lake Forest team. Tell them we are striking Aurelio’s estate in thirty minutes.”
“Boss!” Royce’s voice suddenly screamed through Cormack’s earpiece radio. “Cormack, come in! We have an emergency at the hospital!”
Cormack’s heart hit his throat. He pressed his hand to his ear. “Royce! What’s happening? Is Brin okay?”
“It’s a hit squad, boss!” static crackled over the radio, accompanied by the loud, echoing pops of gunfire in the background. “Aurelio sent twelve men dressed as hospital security! They breached the fourth floor! We’re engaged in the stairwell right outside the CICU! We’re holding them off, but—”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The radio signal cut out into heavy static.
“Royce! Royce!” Cormack roared into the comms.
Nothing but white noise answered.
May you like
Cormack turned toward the Escalade, his eyes bloodshot with terrifying adrenaline. “Dominic! Take the squad to Lake Forest and finish Aurelio! Viktor, get in the car with me! We’re going back to Northwestern!”
Within three seconds, Cormack’s Escalade tore out of the warehouse compound, its tires screaming against the pavement, racing back toward the heart of Chicago at a lethal hundred miles an hour.
