Chapter 4 - The Reckoning of Victor Salazar
The rain poured relentlessly over the city, washing the grime of Chicago into the gutters. Inside a private, soundproofed warehouse near the old rail yards, Victor Salazar sat tied to a heavy steel chair. The single overhead light cast deep shadows across his bloodied, terrified face.
Damian stood before him, his suit jacket removed, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands were stained with blood, but his expression was entirely devoid of emotion. He looked like an executioner.
“Why, Victor?” Damian asked, his voice deadpan, chillingly calm.
Victor coughed, spitting blood onto the concrete floor. He tried to laugh, but it turned into a wheeze. “She… she was changing you, Damian. You were softening. You were talking about investing in legitimate businesses, stepping back from the streets. A mafia boss can’t have a conscience. A family makes you weak.”
“So you fabricated the affair,” Damian said, stepping closer.
“I did what was necessary for the syndicate!” Victor shouted, a desperate anger flaring in his eyes. “If you found out the kid was yours, you would have left the life entirely. I couldn't let you destroy what we built. I hid the second DNA test. I paid off the lawyers. I did it for us!”
Damian looked at Victor, the man he had called a brother. The betrayal was so absolute, so vast, that killing Victor felt like an inadequate response. But in the underworld, there was only one law for treason.
“You didn’t do it for us, Victor. You did it because you wanted the throne, and you knew as long as I had Isabella and my son, you would never control me,” Damian said softly.
Damian pulled a matte-black pistol from his waistband. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t offer a final speech. The suppressed gunshot echoed faintly against the concrete walls.
Victor Salazar slumped forward, the life leaving his eyes.
Damian turned to Colton Briggs, the lawyer who stood trembling near the entrance, flanked by two loyal enforcers.
“Clean this up,” Damian ordered, wiping his hands with a clean handkerchief. “And Briggs?”
“Y-yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Find out where Isabella went. Every city, every street, every job she’s had for the last nine years. I want the report on my desk by morning. If you fail, you join Victor.”
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“Right away, sir.”
Damian walked out into the rain, letting the cold water wash the blood from his skin. The syndicate was secure. His enemies were dead. But his real battle—the impossible task of earning his way back into the lives of the people he had abandoned—was just beginning.
