Chapter 12 - The Midnight RaidThe rain hammered relentlessly against the corrugated iron roof of Warehouse 4 in the industrial district of South Chicago. Inside, rows of high-value medical supplies and luxury imports cast long, eerie shadows under the flickering fluorescent lights.
I crouched behind a stack of wooden crates, my breathing slow and controlled. To my left, Viktor held a suppressed submachine gun, scanning the perimeter with dead-eyed focus. Dominic stood twenty feet away, calm as a statue, baiting the trap.
"He's coming," Dominic muttered into his comms earpiece.
A loud CRASH echoed through the cavernous space as the heavy side security door was blown off its hinges. Special operations tactical gear materialized through the smoke and rain. Agent Miller strode into the warehouse first, his pistol raised, a smug, arrogant smile plastered across his face.
"It's over, Dominic!" Miller shouted over the sound of the rain. "The feds know everything. Drop your weapons and put your hands behind your back!"
Dominic didn't move an inch. "You're trespassing on private property, Agent. And your federal badge doesn't protect you outside federal jurisdiction."
Miller laughed, raising his weapon higher. "I didn't come here to arrest you, Moretti. I came here to execute you and take over the portfolio. And as for your little accountant partner—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence.
I dropped silently from the overhead catwalk behind him, my boots landing soundlessly on the concrete floor just three feet away. Before Miller's tactical squad could turn around, my arm whipped out, wrapping around his throat with the suffocating pressure of a rear-naked chokehold, while my other hand slapped the pistol out of his grip.
Miller choked out a desperate gasp, his face turning purple as he clawed frantically at my forearms.
"You talk too much, Agent," I whispered coldly into his ear, tightening the lock until his eyes rolled back and he collapsed unconscious onto the wet concrete.
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The federal tactical squad froze, raising their rifles—only to find themselves completely surrounded by fifty heavily armed Moretti enforcers who emerged from the shadows of the containers with laser sights locked onto their chests.
Miller's squad dropped their weapons one by one. The trap had snapped shut, and the syndicate had won.
