Chapter 7 - The Trap at the River
The abandoned grain silos on the south bank of the Chicago River stood like rusted giants against the stormy night sky. The wind howled through the cracked concrete structures as Dominic walked into the main bay, flanked only by four of his most trusted men.
Victor Vale stood on a raised steel catwalk thirty feet above the floor, wearing a expensive camel-hair coat, a sneer plastered across his aging, arrogant face. Behind him, tied to a chair, was the transport driver.
"Dominic!" Victor called down, his voice echoing off the hollow walls. "You always were the muscle of the family. Powerful, imposing, but ultimately dull. I must admit, I was surprised by how quickly you dismantled my shell companies. I didn't think you had the brains for it."
"I have plenty of brains, Uncle," Dominic said coldly, resting his hand on his holstered gun. "And I have the guns. Let the driver go. This is between you and me."
"Is it?" Victor laughed wickedly. "You see, Dominic, I realized something. You wouldn't have known about the Cayman accounts unless someone who helped me set them up told you. And there was only one other person who knew those passwords."
Victor raised his hand, snapping his fingers. From the shadows of the catwalk, two mercenaries dragged out a bound and gagged figure.
Dominic’s blood ran cold. It wasn't the driver they had captured.
It was Grace.
She had been snatched from the estate's perimeter while taking out the trash—a foolish lapse in security that Dominic had failed to predict. Her navy cardigan was torn, a bruise forming on her temple, but her eyes blazed with fury as she struggled against her bindings.
"Did you really think I wouldn't track the weak spot in your armor, Dominic?" Victor sneered, pointing a gun directly at Grace's head. "You love her. The terrifying Don Vale has fallen for a fat, pathetic little housekeeper. How poetic."
"Touch her, and I will tear you apart piece by piece," Dominic roared, his composure completely shattering.
"Put your weapons on the floor!" Victor ordered. "All of you! Or her brains paint this concrete right now!"
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Dominic hesitated for a split second, looking into Grace’s eyes. She shook her head frantically, mouthing the words: 'No! Don't do it!'
Dominic slowly unbuckled his holster, letting it drop to the dusty floor. His men followed suit. Victor’s mercenaries grinned, aiming their rifles down from the catwalk, preparing to execute the Don.
