His Wife Was Wheeled Past in Silence—While He Stood There Holding Another Woman’s Hand

Night fell over Chicago like a dark velvet curtain, brought with it a cold, driving rain.

The South Side turned into a warzone.

Dominic stood on the wet asphalt of an industrial avenue, wearing a dark trench coat over his tactical vest. Behind him, three of Lorenzo Moretti’s primary supply warehouses were engulfed in massive, roaring flames, casting long, orange shadows across the rainy street.

Screams, automatic gunfire, and breaking glass rang out in the distance as Valente soldiers systematically dismantled Moretti’s empire.

Mateo walked up to Dominic, wiping rain and gunpowder residue from his cheek.

"We took down their three main hubs, Dom," Mateo reported, his voice raspy. "Moretti’s men are surrendering across the district. His territory is effectively ours."

"Where is Lorenzo?" Dominic asked coldly, watching a fire engine siren wail in the distance.

"We tracked his cell signal to a private dock near the river," Mateo replied. "He’s trying to escape on a speed boat."

Dominic pulled a heavy tactical pistol from his holster, racking the slide with a sharp, metallic click.

"Lead the way."

Five minutes later, Dominic smashed through the doors of the riverfront boathouse.

Lorenzo Moretti was scrambling toward a sleek fiberglass boat tied to the wooden dock, carrying two metal duffel bags packed with cash. He spun around, pulling a small revolver from his coat, but Dominic was faster.

Bang!

Dominic fired a single round, striking Lorenzo’s knee.

Lorenzo let out a agonizing shriek, dropping his weapon and collapsing onto the wet wooden planks, clutching his bleeding leg.

"Valente!" Lorenzo gasped, coughing as Dominic walked slowly down the pier toward him, his leather boots heavy against the wood. "Wait! It wasn't just me! You don't understand!"