Chapter 6 - Fire at the DocksThe Chicago northern shipping docks were a maze of towering shipping containers, rusted cranes, and dark, freezing water that smelled of diesel and salt. By midnight, the area was deserted—except for the heavily armed men moving stealthily through the shadows.
Victor Rossi stood near a massive stack of steel containers, a smug grin plastered across his weathered face.
"I told you," Victor whispered to Marcus Vance, who was checking the magazine of his submachine gun. "Kyle Varelli is busy playing house with his new bride. He thinks he can conquer the Fairfax empire and keep his hands clean. Tonight, we take the docks back, and Varelli's kingdom starts to crumble."
"Don't get cocky, Victor," Marcus warned, scanning the dark perimeter. "Varelli’s enforcers are ruthless—"
Clack.
The sharp, metallic sound of a single shotgun loading echoed through the empty docklands, cutting through the howling wind off Lake Michigan like a razor blade.
Victor and Marcus froze.
From the shadows between two massive shipping containers, a single figure stepped out into the pale moonlight.
Kyle Varelli.
He walked alone, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his heavy wool overcoat. No army of men surrounded him. No frantic guards shielded his path. Just one man, moving with the quiet, terrifying confidence of an apex predator walking into a cage of amateur hunters.
"Looking for me, Victor?" Kyle's voice cut through the cold air, calm, steady, and dripping with thinly veiled amusement.
Victor swallowed hard, raising his pistol with a shaking hand. "Varelli. You should have stayed in your mansion with your little bride. This is men's business—"
Before Victor could finish his sentence, Kyle drew a suppressed pistol from his coat with blinding speed and fired.
Crack.
The bullet shattered Victor’s kneecap. The older capo shrieked in agony, collapsing hard onto the wet concrete, dropping his gun.
"Business?" Kyle asked softly, stepping closer as the rest of Victor's armed men panicked, raising their weapons—only to find themselves instantly illuminated by the red laser sights of a dozen Varelli snipers positioned on top of the surrounding cranes.
"Drop your weapons," Leo’s voice boomed from the darkness as twenty armed enforcers stepped out from the shadows, surrounding the traitors completely. "Move an inch, and you're fish food."
Marcus Vance dropped his submachine gun instantly, raising his empty hands in surrender. "Kyle... wait! It was Victor's idea! We were just—"
Kyle walked right up to Marcus, staring down at the terrified capo with eyes as cold as dead stone.
"You thought I was distracted," Kyle said quietly, his voice like grinding ice. "You thought because I cared for my wife, I had grown weak. Let me make something crystal clear to you, Marcus, and to every rat hiding in the shadows of this city."
Kyle grabbed Marcus by the collar, pulling him close until their faces were inches apart.
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"My wife is my fortress," Kyle whispered fiercely. "And anyone who mistakes my protection for a weakness has just signed their own death warrant. Now, get off my docks. And if I ever see your face in my city again, I won't use a bullet. I’ll feed you to the lake myself."
Marcus stumbled backward, shaking with terror, and fled into the night with his surviving men, leaving a screaming, bleeding Victor Rossi behind on the concrete.
