Chapter 12 - The Ghost of the West Side
The federal raid fizzled out within two hours, leaving Agent Miller and his team packing up their boxes in total humiliation. But the attempt left a lingering chill. Someone inside the Department of Justice had tipped Miller off—someone with high-level clearance who knew about Salvatore’s financial restructuring before the public records even updated.
Marcus slammed a dossier onto the steel table in the subterranean command center.
“It’s not the feds, and it’s not local law enforcement,” Marcus growled, his face set like granite. “It’s Vincent Rossi. The old guard out of New York. He thinks Marquetti went soft by trading guns for community centers.”
Salvatore stood at the end of the room, staring at a digital map of downtown Chicago. His face was carved from stone, every line of his scar rigid.
I stepped closer to him, my fingers moving in fluid sign language. “Rossi is old school. He doesn't care about federal warrants or public exposure. He operates in the shadows.”
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Salvatore looked down at me, a flicker of dark warmth softening his hard gaze. He raised his hands.
Rossi thinks he can bleed my empire from the outside. He doesn't understand that I built this city on silence and loyalty, not just fear. He turned back to Marcus. Find out where his logistics pipeline enters Illinois. We’re going to cut off his oxygen before he even steps foot in Chicago.
