Chapter 7 - The Bloodline of Iron
The basement of Moretti Tower was a vast, concrete labyrinth of utility rooms, electrical grids, and private storage vaults that required a biometric scan to enter. It was where the family handled matters that didn't belong in the light of day.
Dominic walked down the concrete steps, his leather shoes making a sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack that sounded like the ticking of a countdown clock. Marco followed three steps behind, his hand resting on the small of his back where his weapon was hidden.
In the center of the generator room, a man was tied to a heavy steel chair. He wore the blue jumpsuit of the tower’s maintenance staff, but his face was already covered in blood from the rough interrogation Tony and the other guards had provided before the boss arrived.
Dominic stopped five feet from the chair. He didn't take off his coat. He didn't look around for a weapon. He simply stood there, his hands in his pockets, looking down at the man as if he were a bug on the pavement.
“What’s his name, Tony?” Dominic asked.
“Jimmy Vance, boss,” Tony said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “He’s been with the company for six months. Came highly recommended by the logistics team in Cicero.”
Dominic nodded slowly. He stepped closer to Jimmy, his shadow falling completely over the bleeding man. “Jimmy. You look like a man who understands value. You know how much it costs to fix a boiler, how much it costs to replace a transformer. Do you know how much it costs to lock my secretary in a freezing alley on New Year’s Eve?”
Jimmy spat a mouthful of red saliva onto the concrete. “I don't know nothing, Mr. Moretti. The door malfunctioned. The cold makes the digital circuits freeze— Everyone knows that—”
Dominic didn't argue. He reached out with a lightning-fast movement, his large hand gripping Jimmy’s throat, his fingers digging into the muscle until the man’s eyes bulged with terror. He lifted him slightly, the front legs of the steel chair rising an inch off the ground.
“The digital circuits in this tower are military-grade, Jimmy,” Dominic whispered, his voice dropping to a level that made the guards in the back row step closer together. “They don't freeze at ten below. They don't freeze at fifty below. You entered a dynamic override code at 11:02 p.m. A code that only five people in this city possess. Now, you have exactly three breaths to tell me who gave you that sequence, or I will drop you into the main water intake valve for the high-zone riser. You’ll be ice before the fireworks stop.”
Jimmy gasped for air, his hands clawing at Dominic’s iron wrists. “It was... it was the old man!” he choked out.
Dominic didn't let go. His fingers tightened. “Which old man, Jimmy?”
“DeLuca!” Jimmy screamed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “Marco DeLuca! He told me the girl was getting too close! He said she was looking through the offshore ledger files from the Bahamas! He said if she told you about the missing five million from the casino project, we’d all end up in a ditch in Indiana!”
The room went entirely silent. The only sound was the steady, low hum of the massive building generators.
Dominic stayed completely still for five long seconds. His grip on Jimmy’s throat didn't loosen, but his eyes slowly drifted away from the maintenance man and fixed on the shadow near the door.
Marco DeLuca stood there, his hand no longer resting on his back. He had drawn his silver Beretta, the barrel pointing directly at Dominic’s chest. His face was pale, his eyes wide with the desperate, wild look of a animal that had been cornered in its own den.
“Dominic,” Marco said, his voice shaking but resolute. “Drop him. Put your hands on your head. Don't make me do this, boss. We’ve been brothers for fifteen years.”
“Brothers don't touch my people, Marco,” Dominic said softly, his voice dropping into a register that was entirely devoid of human emotion. He slowly released Jimmy’s throat, letting the chair drop back to the floor with a loud clack. He turned to face his oldest friend, his hands returning to his pockets as if he weren't looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.
“She’s just a secretary, Dominic!” Marco shouted, his hand trembling as Tony and the other guards slowly drew their own weapons, creating a lethal circle of silver barrels in the dim light. “She’s a nobody from Ohio! I’ve given my whole life to this family! I built the Cicero docks! I paid off the judges! And you’re going to throw me away because a girl almost froze to death? She didn't even die!”
“She didn't die because I found her,” Dominic said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward the gun. “And if she had died, Marco, there wouldn't be a place on this earth where you could hide from what I would do to you.”
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“Stay back!” Marco screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger. “I have three crews from the West Side waiting for my call! If I don't walk out of this tower by one o'clock, the entire distribution network goes dark! The union will strike by Monday morning! You’ll be broke before February, Dominic!”
“Then I’ll be broke,” Dominic said, taking another step forward until the cold steel of the Beretta was pressing directly against the center of his white shirt, right over his heart. “But you won't be here to see it.”
