Chapter 4: Scorched Earth
The dismantling of the Romano empire began at dawn, and it didn't start with a whimper; it started with a synchronized detonation.
Victor didn't call a meeting of the capos. He didn't ask for permission from the commission. He simply began tearing his own legacy apart piece by piece, depriving Dante of the infrastructure he had spent a year secretly corrupting.
06:00 AM: Victor’s enforcers raided their own counting houses across the South Side, burning millions in untraceable cash before Dante’s men could secure them.
09:00 AM: The shipping manifests at the Port of Chicago were completely wiped, paralyzing three major international distribution lines that Dante used for his black-market supply chain.
12:00 PM: Anonymous, ironclad dossiers detailing the corrupt activities of every judge, politician, and police chief on the Romano payroll were delivered directly to the FBI’s federal building.
By mid-afternoon, the Chicago underworld was in a state of absolute panic. The Romano family was bleeding out, systematically destroying its own wealth.
Dante stormed into the Highland Park estate at 4:00 PM, his composure entirely shattered. He found Victor sitting in the library, casually pouring two glasses of Macallan.
"Are you insane?!" Dante roared, slamming his leather briefcase onto the table. "The feds are executing warrants at the docks! The union guys are turning state’s evidence! You’re burning everything we built, Victor! Why?!"
"Because it’s infected, Dante," Victor said smoothly, sliding a glass of scotch across the polished wood toward him. "When a limb has gangrene, you don't save it. You chop it off."
"We are losing hundreds of millions!"
"I don't care about the money," Victor replied, his silver eyes locking onto Dante’s with the finality of a prison door slamming shut. "And neither should you. You should be much more worried about your health."
Before Dante could respond, Bianca rushed into the room, her face pale, her phone gripped tightly in her manicured hand. "Dante... the offshore accounts in the Caymans. They’ve been cleared out. Every single cent is gone."
Dante looked from Bianca to Victor, the realization finally hitting him like a physical blow. The trap hadn't just been set; it had already closed.
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"You know," Dante whispered, his hand slowly drifting toward his coat pocket.
"I know you killed my wife," Victor said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "I know you poisoned my boy. And I know you think you’re leaving this house alive."
