Chapter 4 - The Strike at the Riverfront
The rain did not stop for three days.
The war between the Russo organization and the Vance syndicate escalated with terrifying speed across the shadow city of Chicago.
Two of Vance’s illegal gambling dens on the West Side were raided and shut down by federal authorities following anonymous tips provided by Dominic’s legal network. A shipping vessel carrying fifty million dollars in contraband belonging to Vance was seized by port authorities at the mouth of Lake Michigan.
Dominic struck with surgical, merciless precision, systematically dismantling Vance’s financial foundation piece by piece.
Inside the Russo tower, Chloe felt like a bird in a golden cage.
Though she was surrounded by luxury, fine food, and the affectionate company of Arthur, the tension hanging over the penthouse was thick enough to cut with a knife. Armed men moved quietly through the corridors. Security screens in the basement monitored every street corner within a ten-block radius.
Dominic was rarely home during the day. When he returned late at night, his face was drawn, his suit faintly smelling of rain, smoke, and cold steel.
Yet, no matter how late he returned—whether it was two in the morning or four—he always stopped by Chloe’s suite first.
He would stand in the doorway, watching her sleep, or sit silently on the edge of her bed while she woke up, pressing his warm hand against her cheek just to reassure himself that she was safe.
On the fourth afternoon, Arthur’s health took a sudden, unexpected downturn.
He developed a high fever and became severely agitated, calling out for his late wife Eleanor and trying repeatedly to leave his room to "find the corner." Dr. Evans was called, determining that Arthur had developed a severe respiratory infection that required specialized intravenous antibiotics available only at St. Jude’s Private Hospital along the riverfront.
“We can transport him in the armored vehicle,” Dr. Evans advised Dominic over the encrypted line. “St. Jude’s has a private, secured wing on the top floor owned entirely by your medical trust. He will be safer there than anywhere else.”
Dominic agreed immediately.
At four o'clock, a heavily armored convoy left the underground garage of the Russo tower, heading south toward St. Jude’s Hospital.
Chloe sat beside Arthur in the rear of the lead SUV, holding a cold cloth against the old man’s burning forehead, singing softly to soothe his anxieties. Thomas sat in the front passenger seat, his hand resting on his sidearm, his eyes scanning the rain-drenched streets.
They arrived at St. Jude’s without incident.
Arthur was brought up to the private VIP wing on the ninth floor, where a team of specialists immediately hooked up his IV line and administered fever-reducing medication. Within an hour, Arthur’s temperature began to drop, his breathing evened out, and he drifted into a peaceful sleep.
Chloe sat in the armchair beside his bed, letting out a long, exhausted breath.
“He’s going to be fine, Miss Chloe,” Thomas said softly from the doorway. “Dr. Evans says the fever will be completely gone by morning.”
“Thank God,” Chloe whispered, resting her head against the mattress near Arthur’s hand.
It was seven o'clock when the emergency lights in the hallway suddenly flashed orange.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The heavy fire doors at the end of the corridor slammed shut automatically with a loud, mechanical clatter.
Thomas drew his gun in half a second, stepping in front of Chloe’s chair. “Stay down!”
Over the intercom, a panicked security guard’s voice cut through static: “Security breach on Floor Nine! Power cut in the west wing! Elevators locked down—”
The sound of heavy boots echoed down the tiled hallway outside.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Automatic gunfire shattered the glass partition at the nurse's station outside the room.
Chloe screamed, dropping to the floor and curling herself over Arthur’s sleeping body to shield him with her own frame.
The room door burst open in a cloud of splinters!
Three men in tactical gear and black masks stormed inside, their assault rifles raised. Thomas fired twice, dropping the first attacker, but a second mercenary slammed his rifle butt into Thomas’s shoulder, throwing the heavy bodyguard against the wall and knocking him unconscious.
The leader of the mercenaries stepped into the room.
He pulled off his mask, revealing a cruel, scarred face and sneering yellow teeth.
Julian Vance.
Vance looked at Chloe, who was trembling on the floor, holding an IV pole like a weapon, her brown eyes blazing with terrified defiance.
“Well, well,” Vance purred, stepping over Thomas’s prone body. “The twelve-dollar soup girl.”
“Get away from him!” Chloe shouted, pointing the sharp metal end of the IV pole toward Vance’s chest. “Touch him and Dominic will tear you apart!”
Vance laughed—a dry, hideous sound. “Dominic isn't here, sweetie. He’s stuck in traffic on the North Side, dealing with three fake bomb threats my boys set off twenty minutes ago. By the time he gets here, you and the old man will be in a container on a barge heading for international waters.”
Vance stepped forward, reaching out his heavy hand to grab Chloe by her hair.
Chloe didn't flinch.
With all the strength in her body, she thrust the sharp steel end of the IV pole straight into Vance’s thigh!
“AHHH! YOU BITCH!” Vance roared, staggering back as blood bloomed through his tactical trousers.
He raised his heavy hand to strike her across the face—
CRACK!
A single, high-caliber gunshot shattered the glass window behind Vance.
The bullet struck Vance’s right shoulder with brutal force, throwing him sideways onto the floor!
Through the shattered window, a heavy steel cable dropped from a hovering black helicopter above the roof.
A figure descended down the cable with terrifying speed, crashing through the remaining glass pane into the hospital room in a shower of glittering shards.
Dominic Russo landed on the marble floor like a dark predator.
He didn't wear tactical gear. He wore his dark suit, his silk tie flying over his shoulder, his gray eyes blazing with a fury so absolute that the air in the room felt electrified.
Before Vance’s remaining mercenary could raise his rifle, Dominic fired two rapid shots from his heavy custom pistol.
BANG! BANG!
The mercenary collapsed instantly.
Dominic turned to Vance, who was crawling frantically toward the doorway, bleeding heavily from his shoulder and leg.
Dominic stepped on Vance’s uninjured ankle, crushing it beneath his heavy dress shoe until the bone cracked with a sickening snap.
Vance screamed in agony, thrashing on the floor. “DE-DELUCA—NO! RUSSO! PLEASE!”
Dominic knelt down beside Vance. He caught the rival boss by his collar, dragging his head up until Vance was forced to look into his eyes.
“I told you what would happen if you came after her,” Dominic whispered. His voice was not loud. It was soft, terrible, and held the finality of an execution.
“Dominic!” Chloe’s voice broke through the horror.
Dominic paused.
He looked over his shoulder.
Chloe stood beside Arthur’s bed, her chest heaving, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. She didn't look at Dominic with terror. She looked at him with raw, desperate longing.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Don't kill him in front of Arthur.”
Dominic looked from Chloe to his father, who was beginning to stir from his sleep, blinking at the smoke and broken glass.
Dominic looked back at Vance.
“You live,” Dominic growled into Vance’s ear, “because she is better than both of us.”
Dominic slammed Vance’s head against the floor, knocking him cold.
Marco and ten heavy DeLuca soldiers poured through the broken doorway a second later, securing the room and dragging Vance’s unconscious body away into the dark.
Dominic stood up. He dropped his weapon into his holster, turned his back on the destruction, and walked straight to Chloe.
He didn't care about the police sirens wailing in the distance. He didn't care about the shattered glass or the blood on the floor.
He reached out and pulled Chloe into his arms, crushing her against his chest with a strength that took her breath away.
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Chloe buried her face in his neck, her hands gripping his shirt, sobbing wildly as the shock finally washed over her.
“I’m here,” Dominic whispered against her hair, his own hands trembling as he held her. “I’m here, Chloe. I’m never letting you go.”
