Chapter 9 - The Reckoning of Vincent
The remaining rogue mercenaries didn't make it off the estate grounds.
By sunrise, the Lake Michigan shore was crawling with state police, federal agents, and Castellano enforcers. The perimeter had been completely locked down, and the surviving gunmen were kneeling in handcuffs on the wet grass.
Dominic stood on the stone terrace, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, holding a steaming cup of black coffee. Beside him stood Clara, wearing a dry cashmere sweater, watching the smoldering ruins of the west wing with a calm, unbothered expression.
Dante walked up, saluting crisply.
“All targets neutralized or secured, Boss,” Dante reported. “We traced the communications back to a private yacht idling five miles out on the lake. It was financed by the last remaining loyalists of Vincent’s faction.”
Dominic took a slow sip of coffee. His eyes were cold, flat, and devoid of mercy.
“Bring the yacht in,” Dominic said quietly. “And bring my uncle to the docks.”
Two hours later, the rusted industrial pier on the south branch of the Chicago River was shrouded in a heavy morning fog.
Uncle Vincent sat tied to a wooden chair in the center of the loading bay, his tailored suit ruined, his face bruised and pale from the cold night air.
Heavy footfalls echoed across the concrete.
Dominic walked out of the fog, his dark overcoat billowing behind him, looking like the grim reaper stepping into an arena of sin. Behind him walked Clara, her head held high, looking down at the broken old man who had tried to destroy everything they built.
Vincent looked up, sneering through swollen lips. “You... you should have killed me in the vault, Dominic.”
Dominic stopped two feet away from him. He didn't yell. He didn't threaten.
“I gave you family, Uncle,” Dominic said softly. “I gave you wealth, power, and a seat at my table. You chose greed and blood.”
“Blood?” Vincent laughed hysterically, his voice echoing off the corrugated iron walls. “You married a cleaning woman! You let a nobody sit on the throne of the Castellano family! You destroyed us from the inside out!”
Dominic slowly reached into his coat, pulled out a gold-plated fountain pen, and tossed it onto the concrete near Vincent’s feet.
“You’re wrong, Uncle,” Dominic said, turning his head to look at Clara as she stepped up beside him, slipping her warm hand into his. “She didn't destroy us. She saved us.”
Dominic turned back to his enforcers.
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“Take him out past the three-mile marker,” Dominic ordered coldly. “Feed him to the lake.”
As Vincent began to shriek, dragged away into the gray fog, Dominic pulled Clara close against his side, turning their backs on the past forever.
