Chapter 9
The estate grounds were plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness. The cinematic, bright lighting of the afternoon was completely gone, replaced by the eerie, quiet tension of an impending ambush. Domenico stood on the second-floor balcony overlooking the massive stone courtyard, his tailored dark suit blending perfectly into the shadows. Below him, thirty of his most lethal enforcers crouched behind stone pillars and decorative planters, completely invisible in the pitch black.
The heavy iron gates at the end of the long driveway groaned softly as they were remotely opened, swinging wide to invite the enemy inside.
Ten minutes later, the low rumble of heavy engines broke the silence.
Four massive, black, armored SUVs crawled up the driveway, running without headlights. They moved with an arrogant confidence, believing they were arriving to claim an empire handed to them by traitors. The lead vehicle passed through the open iron gates, its tires crunching softly against the cobblestones of the courtyard. The other three vehicles followed in tight formation.
The moment the rear bumper of the fourth SUV cleared the threshold, the heavy iron gates slammed shut with a deafening, metallic crash, an electronic deadbolt locking them in permanently.
The brake lights of the SUVs flared red, casting an eerie glow over the stone. Confusion rippled through the convoy. This was not the quiet, welcoming reception they had negotiated.
The doors of the SUVs swung open simultaneously. Over two dozen heavily armed Chicago soldiers poured out into the courtyard, their weapons raised, scanning the darkness frantically.
From the center vehicle, the Chicago Don emerged. He was a large, arrogant man wearing a heavy overcoat. He looked around the dark courtyard, his voice echoing loudly.
"Adrian!" the Chicago Don barked, expecting his mole to step forward. "Where are the lights? What the hell is going on?"
From the balcony above, Domenico stepped forward. He did not turn on the floodlights. He simply looked down at the men who had planned to slaughter his family and bankrupt his syndicate.
"Adrian is not available," Domenico called out, his deep, raspy voice cutting through the night air with terrifying clarity.
The Chicago Don’s head snapped upward, trying to locate the voice in the dark. Panic finally registered on his face. "Caruso. It’s a trap! Fire!"
"Kill them all," Domenico whispered.
The courtyard instantly erupted into a blinding, deafening hellscape. The cinematic, bright flashes of muzzle fire strobed violently across the darkness as thirty automatic weapons opened fire simultaneously from elevated, fortified positions.
The Chicago soldiers didn't stand a chance. Trapped within the high stone walls with zero cover, they were cut down mercilessly in the crossfire. Glass shattered, armor plating sparked, and men screamed as the overwhelming barrage tore through their ranks. The Chicago Don attempted to dive back into his armored SUV, but a concentrated burst of sniper fire from the roof shattered the vehicle's windows and ended his retreat instantly.
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In less than forty-five seconds, the gunfire ceased.
The courtyard was deathly quiet, save for the hissing of punctured tires and the groans of the dying. The ambush had been absolute. The Chicago strike team had been completely eradicated.
