Chapter 8 - Night of the Clean Sweep
Within two hours, the entire Moretti security apparatus mobilized with terrifying, silent efficiency. No police sirens, no public shootouts—just the quiet, surgical eradication of a threat before it could even cross city lines.
Dominic led the strike team himself. Dressed in his heavy black wool coat, he stepped out of a sleek black SUV into the freezing rain outside an abandoned warehouse on the New Jersey docks where the Detroit crew had set up their temporary forward operating base.
The raid lasted four minutes.
When Dominic kicked open the reinforced metal door of the warehouse office, the three syndicate leaders sent to deliver the message were already pinned to the floor by Marco’s enforcers.
The ringleader, a scarred brute named Sal, spat blood onto the concrete, glaring up at Dominic with terrified defiance. "You're slipping, Moretti! Adopting strays! You can't protect everyone! Sooner or later, someone will get past your walls and—"
Dominic didn't let him finish. He crouched down, pressing the muzzle of his polished sidearm gently against Sal's forehead.
"My walls are made of steel and reinforced with the blood of traitors," Dominic whispered, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. "You thought two little girls were a weakness. You didn't realize they were the anchor that stopped me from burning your entire city to ash years ago. Tell your bosses in Detroit that the next time they mention my family, I won't just take their territory—I’ll wipe their bloodline off the map."
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Sal nodded frantically, his eyes wide with absolute, primal terror.
"Get them out of my sight," Dominic ordered, standing up and brushing a speck of dust from his coat.
