Chapter 7 - The Midnight Purge
The storm raging over River Forest at 2:00 AM was violent enough to tear branches from trees. Sheet lightning lit up the sky in stark, white flashes, illuminating the high stone walls surrounding the Donati estate.
I stood on the roof of an armored command van parked down the block, wearing full dark tactical gear, adjusting my night-vision visor. Beside me, thirty of my best operatives stood ready, armed with suppressed carbines and breach equipment.
“Perimeter security disabled,” Marco’s voice cracked through my earset. “We cut their power grid and jammed their cell towers. They’re blind.”
“Move in,” I ordered.
We hit the estate like a phantom hammer.
There were no flashy explosions, no dramatic taunts. My men breached the rear gates with hydraulic cutters, moving through the rain-drenched grounds with terrifying, military precision. The Donati guards, expecting a conventional mob hit, were taken down in silent, dark hallway engagements before they could even sound the alarm.
Pfft-pfft-pfft!
The muffled sound of suppressed gunfire echoed through the high-ceilinged corridors of the Donati mansion. Within seven minutes, the outer defenses were completely neutralized.
I kicked open the heavy double doors of the master study on the second floor.
Joey Donati was huddled behind a massive mahogany desk, frantically trying to rack the slide of an antique pistol with hands that were shaking so hard he dropped the magazine onto the carpet. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes bulging in sheer, unadulterated terror as he saw me walk into the room.
“Murphy!” Joey screamed, scrambling backward against the leather armchair. “Wait! Wait! We can talk! It was just a rumor! I wasn't gonna hit the hospital! It was just leverage!”
I walked across the room, my heavy boots leaving dark wet tracks on his expensive Persian rug. I didn't raise my gun. I didn't need to.
I reached across the desk, grabbed Joey by the collar of his shirt, and hauled his entire body over the wood, slamming him face-down onto the floor. I planted my heavy boot directly onto his hand, crushing his fingers against the hardwood.
“Aaargh!” Joey shrieked, tears springing from his eyes. “Please! Mercy! For God’s sake, Murphy, mercy!”
“You talked about a little girl, Joey,” I said, my voice dangerously low, vibrating through the cold floorboards. “A girl who never did anything to you. A girl who was fighting for her life.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Joey sobbed, his mouth pressed against the floor. “I’ll leave Chicago! I’ll leave the country! You can have the docks! You can have everything!”
I leaned down, pulling him up by his hair until his bloodied face was inches from mine.
“You’re leaving Chicago tonight, Joey,” I whispered. “On a freight train heading west. And if I ever hear your name, your crew’s name, or see your face within two thousand miles of this city again... I won't just destroy you. I will erase every trace of your family from the history books.”
I dropped him like a sack of dead weight.
Marco stepped into the room, holding a heavy duffel bag filled with Joey’s passport, emergency cash, and signed documents transferring all Donati shipping assets to the Moretti syndicate.
“Get him on the train,” I told Marco. “And burn this house to the ground.”
Ten minutes later, as I stood outside in the pouring rain watching orange flames lick the roof of the Donati mansion, my phone buzzed in my tactical vest.
I pulled it out. It was a picture message from Allie.
It was a photo of Lily, sleeping peacefully in her bed at the estate, holding her coverless fairy-tale book, wrapped in the cheap gray knit blanket. Below the photo was a text message:
“We’re waiting for you at home.”
May you like
I looked up at the burning mansion, then back down at the glowing screen.
The rain was still falling around me, freezing and relentless. But inside my chest, the cold that had paralyzed me for three years had finally vanished.
