Chapter 6 - The Shadows of Chicago
While the brick workshop on the Dantis estate thrived in quiet productivity, the rest of Chicago was reeling from the seismic shift in the city's underworld.
In a dimly lit private room inside the back of an upscale Italian restaurant in downtown Loop, six men sat around a circular mahogany table. These were the captains of the remaining Allied Families—the powerful figures who controlled the docks, the gambling parlors, and the union halls across the Midwest.
At the head of the table sat Dominic Moretti, a harsh, silver-haired man of sixty-five whose family had been locked in a bloody rivalry with the Dantis syndicate for three decades.
"Arthur Marlowe was arrested three hours ago by federal marshals," Dominic announced, slamming his thick palm onto the table. "His assets are frozen. His daughter is facing conspiracy charges. And Luca Dantis just secured the entire transport grid without firing a single shot!"
"How did he do it?" another captain asked, adjusting his tie nervously. "Marlowe’s security was airtight. He had Cole on the inside of the Dantis house!"
"Cole turned," Dominic spat out, his eyes dark with rage. "Or worse... Dantis found out about Route 41 before the proxy vote could be finalized. Word on the street is that a maid in the Dantis estate pulled the data from the vehicle's secondary computer."
A brief, disbelieving laugh echoed around the table. "A maid?"
"A mechanic’s daughter," Dominic corrected coldly. "Her name is Norah Bennett. And right now, Luca Dantis is spending two hours a day sitting in a garage watching her fix cars while his brother handles the logistics division."
Dominic leaned forward, his heavy golden signet ring clicking against his wine glass.
"Luca Dantis was dangerous when he was angry," Dominic said quietly. "But a man who is happy... a man who has something soft to protect... is vulnerable."
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"What are you proposing, Dominic?" a captain from the North Side asked cautiously. "Luca just wiped out the entire Marlowe network in forty-eight hours. If we strike at him directly, it’s an all-out war."
"We don't strike at Luca," Dominic replied, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his weathered face. "We strike at the garage."
