Chapter 8 - The Traps Laid Silent
Friday night arrived with a heavy fog rolling off Lake Michigan, wrapping the Chicago docks in a thick, ghostly mist.
At 11:30 PM, four black delivery vans rolled silently into the gravel yard of Warehouse 4 on 22nd Street. Over twenty heavily armed Moretti operatives poured out of the vehicles, carrying automatic rifles and canisters of gasoline.
Frank Scalise, leading the raid under Don Moretti’s direct orders, gestured toward the massive corrugated iron doors of the warehouse.
"Quickly!" Scalise whispered harshly. "Douse the main supports, set the timers, and get out! Russo’s guards won't be back on patrol for another twenty minutes!"
The men kicked open the side entry door and rushed inside the dark, cavernous warehouse.
Suddenly, massive overhead industrial floodlights clicked on, illuminating the entire interior with a blinding, white glare.
The Moretti operatives gasped, shielding their eyes.
Sitting calmly in a leather armchair in the center of the vast, empty warehouse floor was Dominic Russo, flanked by fifty heavily armed, tactical operatives wearing full body armor. High above on the iron catwalks, dozens of laser sights lit up, painting red dots across the chests of every single intruder.
Frank Scalise dropped his gasoline canister, his face draining of all blood. "It's... it's a trap!"
Dominic stood up slowly, adjusting his dark suit cuffs. "You were always predictable, Frank. And Don Moretti is an old fool who thinks love makes a man weak."
Dominic stepped forward, his leather shoes clicking loudly against the concrete floor.
"Drop your weapons," Dominic commanded flatly. "Or every man in this room dies in five seconds."
CLATTER! CLATTER! CLATTER!
All twenty Moretti operatives threw their weapons onto the floor instantly, raising their hands into the air. They were foot soldiers, not men willing to die for a senile boss's foolish ambition.
Dominic walked up to Frank Scalise, who was shaking violently where he stood.
"Tell Don Moretti," Dominic said softly, placing a cold hand on Scalise’s shoulder, "that his reign in Chicago is over. He has two hours to pack his bags, sign over his port shares to the Russo syndicate, and leave the state of Illinois forever. If he is still in Cook County by sunrise, I will come for him personally."
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Two hours later, Don Sal Moretti—faced with total surrender or absolute annihilation—signed the transfer documents and fled toward Florida under the cover of dark.
Without firing a single shot, Dominic Russo had unified the entire Chicago underground under his absolute command, securing a peace that the city had not seen in thirty years.
