Chapter 7 - The Ambush at Jackson
The rain returned to Chicago with a vengeance, turning the streets into wet, reflective mirrors under the streetlights.
Three black SUVs pulled into the narrow alleyway behind the diner on Jackson Boulevard—the very same alley where Clara had found Dominic seven years ago.
Julian Moretti, a sharp-faced man in his late forties with a reputation for sadism, stood under the rusted awning of the diner, flanked by eight heavily armed mercenaries. Bound and gagged at his feet was Ethan Hayes, his face bruised and swollen from a brutal interrogation.
“He’s not coming, Julian!” Ethan sobbed through his gag as Moretti kicked his side. “He doesn't care about her! She was just a debt payment!”
“Shut up,” Moretti sneered, racking the slide of his automatic pistol. “Rossi doesn't let anyone touch his territory. He’ll come.”
Suddenly, the alley lights flickered and died, plunging the narrow space into pitch blackness.
Engine roars echoed down the street as the headlights of three heavy SUVs illuminated the alley, blinding Moretti’s men.
The driver’s side door of the lead vehicle opened, and Dominic Rossi stepped out into the pouring rain. He wore a heavy black trench coat, his hand resting casually inside his pocket. He was completely alone.
“Moretti,” Dominic called out over the thunderous rain.
Moretti grinned, raising his weapon. “You’re an idiot, Rossi! Coming here alone for a worthless piece of debt collateral?”
“I’m not alone,” Dominic said calmly.
From the rooftops above the alley, red laser sights suddenly snapped into existence, painting the chests of all eight of Moretti’s mercenaries. Arthur and twenty Rossi snipers lined the brick ledges above, their weapons fully suppressed.
Moretti’s grin vanished instantly. “What the hell...?”
“You chose the wrong alley, Julian,” Dominic said, stepping slowly forward through the rain, his boots splashing in the puddles. “Seven years ago, I bled out on these exact bricks. I promised myself that if I ever came back to this alley, I would leave my enemies buried beneath it.”
Moretti panicked, raising his gun toward Dominic’s head—
Thwip. Thwip.
Two silenced shots echoed from the roof. Moretti’s primary mercenaries dropped instantly to the wet asphalt. The remaining men immediately threw their weapons to the ground, raising their hands in surrender.
Dominic walked up to Julian Moretti, who was cowering against the dumpster, a bullet hole in his shoulder. Dominic reached down, grabbed Moretti by his collar, and dragged him up until their faces were inches apart.
“Tell your father that the waterfront belongs to the Rossi empire,” Dominic whispered into Moretti’s ear. “If I see another Moretti associate north of Jackson Boulevard, I won't use snipers next time. I’ll come myself.”
Dominic shoved Moretti into the mud, then turned his eyes down to Ethan Hayes, who was shaking violently in terror.
Dominic pulled a silver pocket knife from his coat, slicing Ethan’s bindings with one swift motion.
“Get up,” Dominic commanded.
Ethan scrambled to his feet, sobbing hysterically. “Dominic! Thank you! Thank you! I knew you’d save me! I’m your brother-in-law—”
SMACK.
Dominic’s backhand struck Ethan across the face with enough force to knock him back against the wall. Ethan collapsed, clutching his bleeding jaw.
“You are nothing to me,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “You sold your sister twice. Once for money, and once for your own skin. The only reason your head is still attached to your neck is because Clara asked me for your life.”
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Dominic tossed a brown envelope onto Ethan’s lap.
“Inside is a one-way bus ticket to New Mexico and five hundred dollars cash,” Dominic said. “The Hayes family logistics firm is now a wholly owned subsidiary of Rossi Enterprises. If you ever set foot in Illinois again... I won't tell Clara where I bury you.”
