Chapter 4 - The Docks of Iron
The rain had turned into a thick, choking fog by the time Dominic’s armored motorcade pulled into the South Slip of the Chicago International Port.
Massive red and blue shipping containers were stacked four stories high, creating long, narrow canyons of cold steel. The smell of diesel fuel, wet iron, and stagnant river water hung heavy in the air.
Inside Warehouse 14, eight men sat around a long wooden table beneath flickering industrial halogen lights. These were the captains of the Ashford Syndicate—men who controlled the concrete unions, the trucking routes, the slot machines, and the river barges.
When Dominic walked in, flanked by Marco and four heavily armed soldiers carrying suppressed carbines, the room fell dead silent.
Dominic didn't apologize for being late. He walked to the head of the table, pulled out the heavy iron chair, and sat down. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting it drape over the back, revealing the leather shoulder holster snug against his ribs.
"Dominic," said Silas Vance—no relation to Elena, but an old, fat lieutenant who managed the dockworkers' union. Silas cleared his throat, wiping sweat from his forehead with a stained handkerchief. "Rumors are spreading across the waterfront. They say you raided a Caldwell facility last night and stole a girl."
"I didn't steal her," Dominic said smoothly, leaning back and resting his hands on the armrests. "I found her."
"She’s Caldwell’s property!" blustered another lieutenant, a sharp-faced man named Frank Rossi. "Vincent Caldwell sent a formal notice to the council an hour ago! He said if we don't return Elena Vance by midnight, he’ll freeze our grain shipments at the railhead!"
"Caldwell doesn't own the railhead," Dominic replied coldly. "He owns two corrupt inspectors who can be replaced by tomorrow morning."
"Dominic, listen to reason!" Silas pleaded, leaning forward, his fat hands slamming onto the table. "We are on the verge of signing a fifty-million-dollar deal with the European consortium! We don't need a blood war with Caldwell over some broken accountant!"
Dominic slowly raised his eyes. The light in his dark irises went out, replaced by a terrifying, absolute stillness.
"Did I ask for your permission, Silas?" Dominic asked softly.
Silas swallowed hard, his neck flushing red. "No, but the council—"
"The council advises," Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, cutting through the damp warehouse air like a blade. "I decide. And I have decided that Elena Vance stays under my protection."
Frank Rossi scoffed, folding his arms. "Why? What makes a crippled girl worth risking our bottom line? Is she keeping your bed warm, Dominic?"
Before Frank could draw another breath, Dominic moved.
It was a blur of movement. Dominic stood up, grabbed a heavy glass water pitcher from the table, and slammed it across Frank Rossi’s face.
CRASH!
Glass shattered, water and blood spraying across the table. Frank screamed, tumbling backward out of his chair, hitting the concrete floor clutching his shattered nose.
The other lieutenants scrambled back, chairs scraping violently against the floor. Marco and the guards instantly raised their rifles, aiming directly at the heads of anyone who made a sudden move.
Dominic stepped around the table, standing over Frank, who was groaning and bleeding on the floor. Dominic reached down, grabbed Frank by his necktie, and hauled him up until they were nose-to-nose.
"Speak about her like that again," Dominic whispered, his breath steady, his face devoid of emotion, "and I will feed you through the woodchipper down at the lumber yard. Do you understand me, Frank?"
"Yes! Yes! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Dominic!" Frank choked out, blood pouring through his fingers.
Dominic dropped him like a sack of trash. He pulled a crisp linen handkerchief from his pocket, casually wiping Frank’s blood from his knuckles, and turned to face the rest of the terrified lieutenants.
"Elena Vance has the encryption keys to Caldwell’s off-book accounts," Dominic announced, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "She has the names of every judge, every politician, and every police commander Caldwell has bought for the last ten years. When I open those drives, Vincent Caldwell won't just lose a war. He will be erased."
Silas stared at Dominic, his jaw slack. "She... she has the black ledgers?"
"She has everything," Dominic said. "So if any of you thinks about making a side deal with Caldwell, or if a single word about her location leaks from this room..."
He paused, tossing his bloody handkerchief onto Silas’s lap.
"I won't just kill you," Dominic promised softly. "I will erase your families from the registry."
A heavy, terrified silence washed over the room. No one dared to speak. No one dared to look him in the eye.
Suddenly, Marco’s tactical radio chirped loudly.
“Boss! We got a situation at the main gate! Black SUV just rammed the security checkpoint!”
A heavy explosion echoed from the yard outside, rattling the steel rafters of the warehouse. Flame and black smoke billowed past the frosted windows.
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Dominic pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster, his eyes lighting up with a dark, ruthless satisfaction.
"Looks like Caldwell couldn't wait until midnight," Dominic said, racking the slide of his weapon. "Marco, lock down the perimeter. Nobody leaves this floor alive."
