Chapter 8 - The Shadow Commission
While Julian Vance’s arrest sent shockwaves through the national news networks, the fallout in Chicago’s underworld was far from over.
At ten o'clock that evening, inside a private backroom of a high-end steakhouse in downtown Chicago, five men sat around a circular mahogany table. These were the heads of the South Side Commission—the powerful syndicate that controlled the city’s southern docks, illegal gambling rings, and gray-market logistics.
At the head of the table sat Sal Donato—a sixty-year-old mob boss with silver hair, a heavy gold signet ring, and a reputation for cold, calculating violence.
The door opened, and Dominic walked into the room alone. He wore his dark charcoal suit, carrying no visible weapons, his posture completely relaxed as he took an empty seat across from Donato.
“Dominic,” Donato said, his deep voice gravelly from years of cigar smoke. “We heard about Dr. Vance. The feds picked him up at your gates this morning. You made a lot of noise in our city last night.”
“Julian Vance was an outsider who brought federal heat onto dock territory,” Dominic said smoothly, pouring himself a glass of water from the crystal carafe on the table. “I cleaned up a mess before it touched any of our commercial operations.”
A younger syndicate leader named Joey Vane leaned forward, his face dark with hostility. “That outsider offered our families ten million dollars, Moretti. You killed five of our private contractors in that warehouse on Pier 14 last night.”
Dominic set his glass down with a quiet clink. He turned his icy gaze directly onto Joey Vane. “Those contractors deployed military nerve toxins on my dock workers, Joey. Three of my men almost died. In case you forgot the rules set down by my father twenty years ago: we fight over territory, we fight over revenue, but we do not bring chemical poisons onto the docks where our people work.”
“Times change, Dominic!” Joey snapped, slapping the table. “Money is money! You’re getting soft because of that doctor girl you’re hiding in your mansion!”
Dominic didn't raise his voice. He didn't reach for a weapon. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black flash drive, and tossed it onto the center of the table.
“What’s that?” Donato asked, narrowing his eyes.
“That is the complete audit trail of Joey’s private offshore accounts in Panama,” Dominic said calmly. “Including the three million dollars he secretly accepted from Julian Vance two days ago to organize that hit on my warehouse without the Commission’s approval.”
The room went dead silent. Donato turned his slow, terrifying gaze onto Joey Vane.
“Is this true, Joey?” Donato asked softly. “You took private money from an outsider to hit Moretti property without a Commission vote?”
Joey’s face drained of all color. “Sal... wait... he’s lying! He’s trying to set me up—”
“The bank routing numbers are signed with your private digital key, Joey,” Dominic interrupted flatly. “You tried to start a syndicate war in Chicago so you could collect a three-million-dollar finder's fee and take over the South Side piers.”
Donato stood up slowly, picking up the black flash drive from the table. He looked at Dominic, giving a brief, respectful nod.
“You brought us truth, Dominic,” Donato said quietly. “The Commission respects the old laws.”
Donato turned to his two bodyguards standing near the door. “Take Joey out back to the alley. Clean up his mess.”
Joey screamed as two heavy-set men grabbed him by his arms and dragged him out of the room, his frantic cries fading behind the heavy soundproofed doors.
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Donato sat back down, looking across the table at Dominic. “The South Side Commission has no quarrel with you, Moretti. Or with the woman living in your house.”
“Good,” Dominic said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. “Because if anyone in this city raises a hand against Dr. Hannah Vance again, I won't bring a flash drive to the table. I’ll bring a shovel.”
