Chapter 7 - The Gathering Storm
The old meatpacking plant on 47th Street was a relic of Chicago’s industrial past. The scent of old copper, frozen grease, and rust hung thick in the air. Inside the central hanging room, a single industrial light bulb swung from a high cord, casting long, erratic shadows across the concrete floor.
Roman D’Angelo was bound to a heavy metal chair in the center of the room. His face was bloodied, his expensive suit torn, but his eyes were still filled with a desperate, animal defiance.
Leo, Maya’s primary tactical contact from her old network, stood in the shadows, his hands folded across his chest, a submachine gun slung loosely over his shoulder.
“She’s a ghost, Roman,” Leo said, his voice flat. “You thought you were dealing with a housewife. You didn't do your homework.”
“Shut up,” Roman spat, spit and blood flying from his mouth. “When Aldo gets the word to the old crews in New York——”
The heavy metal sliding door of the hanging room groaned open.
The wind blew a flurry of cold rain inside. Two figures walked through the threshold.
Maya entered first, her black coat buttoned to the chin. Beside her, leaning heavily on a cane but standing with the terrifying stature of a resurrected god, was Dominic Bellandi. He wore a fresh charcoal suit, his face swollen and bruised, but his presence filled the cavernous room until the air itself felt heavy.
Roman’s breath hitched. His defiance withered in a single second. “Dominic…”
Dominic didn't speak. He walked slowly across the concrete, the click of his cane echoing like a countdown. He stopped three feet from Roman, looking down at the man he had called a brother for thirty years.
“You left me in a trunk, Roman,” Dominic said, his voice a low, terrifying growl that seemed to vibrate from the floorboards. “You didn't even have the decency to put a bullet in my head yourself. You let your thugs do the beating because you couldn't look me in the eye.”
“Dominic, listen to me,” Roman pleaded, his voice cracking as the reality of his situation set in. “Aldo… Aldo was the one who pushed it. He said the commission wanted a change. He said you were getting soft because of her!” He pointed a trembling, bound hand toward Maya.
May you like
Dominic turned his head slightly, looking at Maya. The warmth that filled his eyes when he looked at her was a stark contrast to the death sentence he held for Roman.
“She isn't my soft place, Roman,” Dominic said softly. “She is my foundation. You thought you were cutting out my heart. You just pulled the pin on a grenade.”
