Chapter 9 - The Siege of the Docks
Maggie was dragged into an abandoned grain elevator on the edge of the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal.
The air smelled of rust, stagnant water, and old diesel fuel. Rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof high above.
She was forced into a wooden chair in the center of the vast, dusty floor. Her hands were bound behind her back with heavy zip-ties.
Liam O’Malley walked out of a makeshift office room, holding a glass of scotch. He was fiftyish, with thinning red hair and a sharp, hungry face that lacked any of Dominic’s quiet dignity.
“So you’re the fat caterer who turned Dominic into a family man,” O’Malley sneered, circling her chair like a vulture. “I was hoping to grab the boy, but you’ll do just as fine. Dominic’s been soft on you.”
Maggie winced as the plastic ties bit into her wrists, but she kept her chin up, glaring at him. “If you think holding me gives you leverage over Dominic, you’re stupider than you look.”
“Is that so?” O’Malley laughed, pulling out his phone. “Let’s test that theory.”
He dialed a number and put it on speakerphone.
The line rang twice.
“O’Malley,” Dominic’s voice came through the speaker. It was quiet, dead flat, and entirely devoid of human emotion—the voice of a predator that had just located its prey.
“I have your woman, Moretti,” O’Malley gloated, leaning over the phone. “She’s sitting in a chair in my canal warehouse. If you want her back in one piece, you hand over the deed to the West Side rail yards by midnight.”
A heavy silence stretched over the phone line.
Then, Dominic spoke.
“Liam.”
“Yeah?”
“Look out the south window.”
O’Malley frowned. He motioned to one of his guards, who walked over to a high dust-covered window overlooking the canal yard.
Suddenly, the guard gasped. “Boss...”
A deafening roar split the rain-drenched air.
Heavy steel doors on the far side of the warehouse collapsed inward as three massive Moretti Construction bulldozers rammed straight through the metal walls, tearing through brick and iron like paper.
Behind the industrial machines stepped thirty armed men dressed in tactical gear, led by Frank.
And in the center of them stood Dominic Moretti.
He wasn't wearing a suit. He was wearing a dark tactical jacket, a heavy iron crowbar resting casually over one broad shoulder. His dark eyes swept the room, instantly locking onto Maggie tied to the chair.
O’Malley’s men panicked, shouting and aiming their weapons, but they were hopelessly outgunned and surrounded within seconds.
“Drop your weapons!” Frank shouted, his voice booming across the floor.
O’Malley grabbed Maggie by her hair, yanked her head back, and pressed his gun against her temple. “Nobody moves! I’ll blow her brains out!”
Maggie gasped in pain, but she didn't scream.
Dominic didn't stop walking. He stepped past his armed guards, walking calmly toward O’Malley until he was less than ten feet away.
“Put the gun down, Liam,” Dominic said quietly.
“Stay back, Moretti! I swear to God I’ll kill her!” O’Malley screamed, his hand shaking on the trigger.
“You don't understand, Liam,” Dominic said softly, taking another step forward. His eyes were burning with a dark, terrifying intensity. “You think you took my leverage. But you didn't. You took the only thing in this world keeping me from tearing your entire organization apart with my bare hands.”
Dominic moved with impossible speed.
He swung the heavy iron crowbar upward, striking the steel pipe above O’Malley’s head.
CLANG!
A burst of high-pressure industrial steam burst from the fractured valve, blasting directly into O’Malley’s face.
O’Malley shrieked in pain, dropping the gun and clutching his burned face.
Before O’Malley could hit the ground, Dominic grabbed him by the throat, lifted the six-foot man entirely off his feet, and slammed him down onto a wooden crate, smashing it into splinters.
The rest of O’Malley’s guards threw their weapons onto the ground, raising their hands in absolute surrender as Frank’s men swarmed them.
Dominic didn't look at O’Malley groaning on the floor. He dropped the crowbar, pulled a silver pocket knife from his vest, and rushed to Maggie’s side.
With one swift motion, he sliced through the zip-ties.
“Maggie,” Dominic breathed, dropping to his knees and gathering her into his massive arms. He pulled her tight against his chest, his heart hammering violently against her cheek. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”
Maggie buried her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and cedar. “I’m okay, Dominic. I’m okay.”
Dominic pulled back, holding her face between his large, warm hands. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and finally pressed his lips to hers in a deep, desperate kiss that tasted of rain, copper, and profound relief.
“I almost lost you,” Dominic whispered against her lips.
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“You’re never going to lose me,” Maggie said, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m too stubborn to die in a grain elevator.”
Dominic gave a wet, breathless laugh, pulling her close again as the police sirens echoed in the distance.
