Chapter 6 - The Siege of Navy Pier
The fog rolling off Lake Michigan was thick enough to swallow a skyscraper.
At 1:00 a.m., Navy Pier was deserted, save for the eerie creaking of the massive Ferris wheel in the cold night wind. Dark shadows moved between the massive shipping containers lining the docks.
I stood at the end of Pier 2, wrapped in a heavy black wool coat, flanked by Mateo and twenty of my best tactical operatives. In my pocket rested a heavy steel colt .45—the first gun I had ever owned as a young man on the South Side.
A convoy of four black SUVs pulled up, their headlights cutting through the thick fog.
The doors opened, and dozens of heavily armed men stepped out, taking positions behind the vehicles. From the middle SUV stepped Dominic Vale. He was older than his brother Victor, scarred, with dead eyes and a long leather coat.
"Julian Vance," Dominic called out, his voice raspy, dripping with New York arrogance. "You look remarkably well for a dead man."
"You look remarkably stupid for coming to my city, Dominic," I replied, my voice carrying over the sound of the crashing waves.
Dominic laughed—a dry, soulless sound. "Chicago was yours, Vance. But you got soft. You let a woman put rat poison in your soup, and now you’re running around playing daddy to a maid’s bastard."
My eyes narrowed. The air around me seemed to drop ten degrees—not from the poison, but from absolute, murderous rage.
"You shouldn't have mentioned my family, Dominic," I said softly.
"Family?" Dominic sneered, pulling a gold-plated submachine gun from his coat. "You don't have a family, Vance. You’re a gangster. You die alone in a pool of your own blood! Kill them all!"
RAT-AT-TAT-TAT!
The fog exploded into muzzle flashes.
"COVER!" Mateo screamed, tackling me behind a massive steel shipping container as a hail of bullets ripped through the air, tearing wood and metal to shreds.
My men returned fire, the sound of automatic weapons echoing off the water like thunder. Sparks flew across the dock as bullets ricocheted off the steel containers.
"Mateo!" I yelled over the deafening noise. "Flank them from the left warehouse!"
"On it!" Mateo barked, motioning to six tactical guards as they darted into the shadows.
I leaned out from behind the container, aiming my Colt .45. BANG! BANG! Two of Dominic’s shooters dropped to the concrete floor.
Despite the violence around me, my mind was crystal clear. The sickness had purged the lingering doubts from my mind. I wasn't just fighting for territory anymore. I was fighting to give Elena and Maya a world where they would never have to run again.
Suddenly, a heavy explosion rocked the pier.
BOOM!
One of our SUVs erupted into a fireball as Dominic’s men fired a grenade launcher. The force of the blast threw me backward onto the wooden deck. My gun skittered away, falling into the dark, icy waters of Lake Michigan.
Disoriented, my ears ringing, I pushed myself up.
Through the burning smoke, Dominic Vale stepped forward, his gold-plated weapon pointed straight at my chest.
"End of the line, King Vance," Dominic grinned, placing his finger on the trigger. "Send my brother my regards."
BLAM!
A single gunshot echoed through the pier.
Dominic’s grin froze. A tiny, red hole appeared in the center of his forehead. He collapsed forward, hitting the wooden pier with a heavy thud.
Behind him stood Elena Ramirez.
She stood beside a burning shipping container, holding a tactical Glock pistol in both hands, her body shaking, smoke curling from the barrel of the gun. She had snuck onto the docks inside Mateo’s secondary supply vehicle.
I stared at her in absolute shock.
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"Elena...?"
Elena lowered the gun, her breathing heavy, tears streaming down her soot-stained face. "I told you, Julian," she whispered, her voice fierce and unbroken. "I'm your medical supervisor. I don't let my patients die."
