Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Docks
Three hours later.
The news of Julian Rossi's imminent downfall rippled through the Chicago underworld like a shockwave.
By 2:00 PM, four of Julian’s loyalist captains had gone into hiding, while three others surrendered their weapons at my main headquarters, swearing allegiance to the true Moretti line.
I sat in the back of my armored SUV, parked in the shadowed interior of an abandoned warehouse at Pier 42—the very dock where Thomas Gallagher had disappeared twelve years ago.
Beside me sat Beatrice. She wore a dark wool coat I had bought her that morning, her eyes fixed on the empty floor of the warehouse where two heavy wooden crates sat under a single hanging lightbulb.
"Are you sure he'll come here?" Beatrice asked softly, her fingers knotting together in her lap.
"Julian is a creature of habit," I replied, checking the magazine of my custom Kimber .45. "He thinks he has a getaway boat docked at Slip 4. He spent twenty years maintaining an escape route through this pier. He doesn't know I bought the entire dock three years ago."
The heavy metal door at the far end of the warehouse creaked open, admitting a gust of freezing wind and a swirl of white snow.
Julian Rossi stepped inside, accompanied by three remaining mercenaries carrying compact automatic submachine guns. He was wearing an unbuttoned overcoat, a leather travel bag slung over his shoulder, his eyes darting frantically across the dark rafters of the warehouse.
"Check the slip!" Julian ordered his lead guard. "Make sure the captain has the engines running!"
"The captain isn't coming, Julian," my voice echoed from the shadows near the crates.
Julian stopped dead in his tracks. His guards immediately brought their submachine guns up, sweeping their tactical lights across the dark floor.
I stepped out into the yellow light, flanked by six of my most trusted men. Beside me, Beatrice stepped forward, her dark eyes fixed on the man who had ordered her father's destruction.
Julian blinked, staring at Beatrice with a mix of shock and irritation. "Who the hell is this? Another one of your strays, Michael?"
"My name is Beatrice Gallagher," she spoke, her voice ringing clearly through the vast, empty space. "My father was Thomas Gallagher."
Julian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a memory flicking behind his cold gaze. "Gallagher... the dock worker. You look like him. Dumb, stubborn, and completely out of his depth."
"He died with his honor, Julian," Beatrice said, her voice unshakeable. "You're going to die in a cage."
Julian let out a bitter, raspy laugh, reaching toward his inner coat pocket. "I'm not dying anywhere, girl. I built this city!"
Before his fingers could touch his shoulder holster, a sharp, deafening shot echoed from the high catwalk above our heads.
THWACK.
The lead guard beside Julian collapsed into the dirt, his submachine gun clattering across the concrete floor.
Julian gasped, looking up into the shadows of the high catwalk.
Standing under the dim halogen lights of the crane platform, holding a heavy lever-action rifle, was Gabe Moretti. He wore my father’s old sheepskin coat, his scarred face illuminated by the bright work lights.
"Hello, Julian," Gabe’s voice boomed through the warehouse like a judgment from the grave.
Julian’s face turned completely white. He dropped his leather bag, taking two frantic steps backward, his knees trembling so violently he nearly fell.
"Gabe...?" Julian stammered, his voice turning into a high-pitched, pathetic squeak. "You're... you're dead! I saw the car go into the river!"
"You saw what you wanted to see, Julian," Gabe said, cycling the lever of his rifle with a crisp, terrifying CLACK-CLACK. "Just like you thought you could kill my brother and steal his throne without his son putting a bullet in your head."
May you like
Julian looked around frantically—at me standing in front of him, at Beatrice watching him with fierce dignity, and at Gabe holding the rifle above his head. The three remaining guards dropped their weapons onto the concrete, raising their hands in absolute surrender.
Julian sank to his knees in the cold dirt, dropping his hands to his head, weeping pathetically as federal law enforcement sirens began to wail in the distance, approaching the pier from every direction.
