Chapter 3 - The Siege of Vance Manor**
Marcus Vance was pouring himself a glass of twenty-year-old scotch in his lavish, mahogany-paneled study when the reinforced front doors of his gated North Side mansion blew inward with the deafening roar of an industrial breaching charge.
The heavy wood splintered into a million pieces, showering the Persian rugs with shrapnel. Before Vance’s armed security guards could even raise their assault rifles, a barrage of suppressive fire lit up the hallway. Smoke grenades hissed across the marble foyer, filling the estate with thick, choking white fog.
Vance dropped his glass, the crystal shattering against the floor as amber liquid splattered across his shoes. He scrambled backward toward his executive desk, pulling a gold-plated Sig Sauer from his holster with trembling hands.
"What the hell is going on?!" Vance screamed to his head of security over the din of automatic gunfire.
"It's Vitale! They breached the perimeter!" the guard yelled back, before a silenced round took him clean through the throat, dropping him instantly onto the floor.
Through the billowing smoke, heavy leather boots stepped across the threshold of the study.
Enzo Vitale walked through the carnage as if he were taking a quiet Sunday stroll. His tailored suit was still stained with Elena’s blood, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing taut muscles and coiled tension. In his right hand, he held a customized submachine gun, the barrel still warm and smoking slightly. Behind him poured a tide of twenty elite Vitale enforcers, neutralizing Vance’s remaining men with ruthless, clinical precision in less than sixty seconds.
Vance raised his gold-plated pistol, aiming it directly at Enzo’s chest, his hands shaking so violently he could barely keep the sights aligned.
"S-Stay back, Vitale!" Vance shrieked, sweat pouring down his pale face. "You step another foot closer and I swear to God I'll put a bullet through your head!"
Enzo didn't even slow his pace. He walked straight toward the desk, looking at Vance with the detached, chilling curiosity of a scientist examining a particularly repulsive insect.
"You had a message delivered last night," Enzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm, cutting through the silence of the wrecked room. "A very wet, very cold message in the warehouse district."
"I... I don't know what you're talking about!" Vance stammered, backing away until his spine pressed hard against the oak bookshelves.
"You hunted an unarmed, pregnant woman," Enzo continued, his eyes locking onto Vance’s with a gaze so heavy it felt physical. "You dragged her into the rain, you left her to bleed out in the dirt, and you thought you were sending a message to the Vitale syndicate."
"She was your weakness!" Vance screamed hysterically, raising the gun higher. "Everyone in Chicago knows you let her go to protect her! We just sped up the inevitable!"
*Click.*
Before Vance could pull the trigger, Enzo raised his weapon with blinding speed and put a single 9mm bullet directly through Vance’s right wrist.
The gold-plated pistol dropped from Vance’s shattered hand, clattering onto the floor. Vance let out a blood-curdling shriek of agony, clutching his mangled, bleeding wrist as he collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
Enzo stepped forward, towering over the screaming rival boss. He didn't shoot him again. Instead, he holstered his weapon, crouched down, and grabbed Vance by the collar of his expensive silk shirt, hauling him up until their faces were inches apart.
"You’re right about one thing, Marcus," Enzo whispered, his voice dark and deadly. "She was my weakness. But the men who hurt her... just created my ultimate fury."
Enzo slammed Vance’s face hard against the edge of the mahogany desk, knocking him out cold in a heap of blood and splintered wood.
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"Tie him up," Enzo ordered without looking back as Frankie stepped out of the smoke-filled hallway. "Bring him to the private docks on Lake Michigan. We have some unfinished business to attend to before the sun comes up."
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