Chapter 10 - The Final Reckoning at the Docks
While Linda slept deeply for the first time in months inside the sanctuary of the estate’s medical wing, Dominic Gallo prepared to settle accounts. It was 3:00 a.m. on Thursday. The rain had returned, slicking the concrete of the industrial shipping docks with a greasy sheen. Dominic stood beside a stack of rusted shipping containers near Pier 42, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his heavy wool coat. Behind him stood twenty of his most elite capos, their silenced weapons gleaming faintly beneath the flickering sodium lights of the pier. A single black Cadillac pulled up, its headlights cutting through the heavy mist. Four of Moretti’s remaining lieutenants stepped out, hands raised cautiously in the air, escorting a battered, bloody Salvatore Moretti between them. Salvatore’s face was bruised, his expensive silk suit ruined, his aura of untouchable arrogance completely shattered. They shoved the old mob boss forward until he stumbled onto the wet concrete a few feet away from Dominic. “Gallo,” Salvatore spat, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “You’ve gone soft. Wasting an empire on a cleaning lady’s kid. You’re finished, Dominic. The Commission will hear about this.” Dominic did not raise his voice. He walked slowly toward Salvatore, his leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the pavement. He stopped right in front of the aging capo, looking down at him with an expression of supreme, icy contempt. “The Commission doesn’t exist anymore, Salvatore,” Dominic said quietly. “You broke the cardinal rule of the streets. You brought violence to a place of healing. You threatened a child who had nothing to do with our business.” Salvatore’s eyes widened with sudden, primal fear as he realized there was no negotiation, no bailout, no way out. “Wait—Dominic, let’s talk numbers! The shipping lanes, the downtown real estate—it’s all yours! Just—” Dominic raised his hand, cutting him off completely. “I don’t want your territory, Salvatore. I want your absence.” He turned his back on the aging capo, raising two fingers in a silent, final gesture. The sharp, muffled cracks of silenced firearms echoed across the empty docks. When Dominic walked back toward his waiting vehicle without looking back, the Moretti syndicate was nothing more than history. The streets were quiet again. And Dominic Gallo’s empire was absolute, unbreakable, and fiercely guarded.
