Chapter 10
The old slaughterhouse on the south side of Chicago stood like a monolithic tomb against the darkening sky, its rusted corrugated metal walls groaning in the bitter wind coming off Lake Michigan. Inside, the cavernous room smelled of wet concrete, iron rust, and old blood. Twelve rival capos stood in a ragged circle around a single swinging overhead bulb, their faces shadowed and tense. "Moretti has lost his mind," whispered Vince Bellini, Vanessa’s uncle, pacing the concrete floor with a lit cigar gripped tightly in his teeth. "He throws away a multi-million-dollar alliance with our family for a kitchen maid and a bastard brat. He’s weak. He’s compromised. Tonight, we take the North Docking monopoly, and we—" The heavy iron sliding door of the slaughterhouse suddenly screeched open, cutting Vince off mid-sentence. A single figure stepped out of the freezing rain and into the amber halo of the swinging light. Gabriel Moretti stood alone. He wore no trench coat, only his tailored black suit, his white shirt collar open at the throat, his massive shoulders radiating an aura of absolute, terrifying death. The tattoos on his hands gleamed in the dim light. "You invited yourselves to my city, gentlemen," Gabriel’s voice rolled across the damp concrete like thunder, cold and devoid of human warmth. Vince Bellini scrambled backward, his cigar dropping from his mouth as he drew his silver-plated revolver. "Kill him! He's by himself! Cut the bastard down!" All twelve capos drew their weapons in a chaotic flurry of steel and iron. But Gabriel didn't flinch. He moved with the terrifying speed of a striking viper, drawing his twin sidearms in a fluid, practiced motion. The first shots rang out, shattering the silence of the night. Sparks flew from the rusted metal walls as bullets tore through the air, but Gabriel was already advancing, a relentless storm of lead and iron. He didn't just fight; he systematically dismantled every threat in the room, his slate-gray eyes blazing with the fierce, protective fury of a father and a king defending his home. Within three minutes, the slaughterhouse fell deathly silent. Eleven men lay scattered across the concrete floor, groaning in pain or neutralized entirely. Only Vince Bellini remained standing, trembling violently as he dropped his empty revolver, falling backward onto a stack of wooden pallets. Gabriel walked up to him, his boots squelching in the puddles of rainwater and blood. He pressed the cold steel barrel of his gun squarely against Vince’s forehead. "Tell Vanessa her family’s reign in Chicago is officially over," Gabriel whispered, his voice a lethal hiss. "And if any of you ever look in the direction of my estate again, I won't just kill you. I’ll erase your names from history." Gabriel lowered his weapon, turned his back on the cowering capo, and walked out into the freezing rain. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing a text message from Rachel: We're waiting for you. Hurry home. Gabriel looked up at the dark, starless sky, a genuine, unburdened smile breaking across his stubbled face for the first time in five years. He climbed into his idling black SUV, slammed the door, and sped away into the night, heading back to the only place that had ever mattered.
