Chapter 5 - The Vanguard Strike
Within two hours of Marcus’s confession, the entire machinery of the Moretti syndicate shifted from defense to all-out offense.
If Viktor Petrov wanted a war, I was going to give him a masterclass in total annihilation.
We didn't call the police. We didn't file lawsuits. In my world, justice was executed with cold, calculated precision.
By midnight, a convoy of six black armored SUVs rolled out of the Lake Forest estate gates, heading south toward downtown Chicago. Inside the lead vehicle, I sat in the backseat cleaning the slide of my custom Kimber 1911 pistol while Luca monitored our tactical satellite feeds on a ruggedized military tablet.
"Petrov’s primary operational headquarters is an abandoned meat-packing plant near the industrial district," Luca reported, tapping the screen. "Heavy security—at least twenty armed guards on perimeter patrol, reinforced steel doors, and private security cameras."
"Cut their power," I instructed without looking up from my weapon.
"Done ten minutes ago," Luca smiled grimly. "The entire district grid is dark. They’re running on backup generators that won't handle heavy resistance for more than twenty minutes."
"Good."
I checked the magazine, slid it home with a sharp, metallic clack, and tucked the firearm into my holster.
Ten minutes later, our convoy arrived at the industrial plant. The massive concrete structure loomed silently against the foggy Chicago skyline, completely devoid of exterior lighting.
We didn't bother with stealth.
The lead SUV slammed directly through the rusted chain-link perimeter gate, showering sparks across the asphalt. Before the guards stationed at the loading docks could even raise their assault rifles, my enforcers poured out of the vehicles, neutralizing the exterior resistance with silenced precision.
I stepped out into the damp night air, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders as I walked toward the main loading bay doors.
Two of my men were already working on the electronic lock with a high-voltage bypass unit.
Zzzzt—click.
The heavy steel doors groaned and slid open, revealing a dark, cavernous warehouse filled with hanging meat hooks, industrial crates, and a dozen armed Vanguard thugs scrambling in the gloom.
"Moretti!" a voice shouted from an elevated metal catwalk near the back of the plant.
I looked up.
Standing on the catwalk, holding a whiskey glass in one hand and a submachine gun in the other, was Viktor Petrov. He looked older than his reputation suggested, his silver hair slicked back, his tailored suit stained with soot from the blackout.
"Well, well," Petrov sneered, raising his glass mockingly. "The great Adrien Moretti comes crawling out of his mansion. Did your little babies finally stop crying?"
I didn't smile. I didn't trade insults.
I simply raised my pistol, aimed directly at the lightbulb hanging above his head, and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The lightbulb exploded in a shower of sparks, plunging the catwalk into near-total darkness.
Before Petrov’s men could figure out where the shot came from, my enforcers opened fire with tactical flashlights and non-lethal suppression rounds, sweeping the warehouse floor in seconds.
Petrov screamed in frustration, firing blindly into the air, but within thirty seconds, the gunfire died down, replaced by the groans of defeated men hitting the concrete floor.
I walked calmly across the warehouse floor, stepping past fallen guards, until I reached the steel staircase leading up to the catwalk.
Luca was already standing at the top, holding Petrov by the collar of his suit jacket and forcing him to his knees.
I climbed the stairs slowly, my leather shoes clicking against the metal grating, and stopped right in front of my rival.
Petrov glared up at me, his face bruised from being wrestled to the ground, his whiskey glass shattered on the floor beside him.
"You're a dead man, Moretti," Petrov snarled, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. "The commission won't let you wipe out a founding family like this."
"The commission doesn't exist anymore," I said quietly, crouching down until I was eye-level with him. "Because I just bought out their remaining debts while you were sitting here drinking cheap whiskey."
Petrov’s defiance wavered for a fraction of a second. "You... you bought the council?"
"You targeted my children, Viktor," I whispered, my voice carrying a terrifying, absolute finality. "In my world, you can steal my money, you can burn my shipments, you can try to take my territory. But the moment you bring harm to my family, you forfeit your right to draw breath on this earth."
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Petrov opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter another word, I stood up and signaled to Luca.
"Tie him up, strip his accounts, and dump him outside the federal courthouse downtown with a signed confession detailing every illegal operation he ran in this city," I ordered coldly. "Let the feds finish what we started."
