The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 42

The storm that Mackin had feared for so long was finally on the horizon. Carmine Santoro, the unseen power behind Marcus Wren, was stepping into the light, ready to challenge Mackin’s empire. The fight for control of the city was about to enter its most dangerous phase yet.

But Mackin wasn’t afraid.

He had fought wars before. He had survived betrayals, assassinations, and power struggles that would have destroyed lesser men. And now, as he prepared to face his most dangerous enemy yet, he knew one thing for certain.

No matter the cost, he would survive this too.

The battle for the city wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

The city was still in the early hours of dawn when Mackin Jones stood on the edge of his balcony, the skyline lit in soft hues of blue and orange. The world beneath him was stirring, coming to life as if nothing had changed. But for Mackin, the landscape was different now. His empire, built on power and ruthlessness, faced its greatest threat yet. Carmine Santoro. The name sat heavily on his chest, a weight that Mackin could not ignore.

In the underworld, the name Santoro was a legend. For years, Carmine had managed to stay hidden, building his influence quietly, unlike Bruno or even Lachlan, who had thrived on overt displays of power. Santoro operated like a shadow, never revealing himself, pulling the strings from the background. And now, with Marcus Wren gone, the time had come for Santoro to make his move.

Mackin’s jaw tightened. Wren’s plan had been intricate, but Santoro had been the true mastermind, letting Wren run the day-to-day, all while keeping his own hands clean. And now, with Wren dead, Santoro was undoubtedly preparing to strike.

Behind him, the door creaked open, and Lambo stepped into the room. His face was stern, the weight of the information they had just learnt evident in his posture. “We’ve got everything from the informant,” Lambo said, his voice low. “Santoro’s network is bigger than we thought—real estate, offshore accounts, investments in some of the city’s biggest legitimate businesses. He’s been running things from the shadows for years.”

Mackin didn’t turn to face him. He was still staring out over the city, lost in thought. “That’s why we never saw him coming. He was always behind someone else.”

Lambo nodded, stepping closer. “Exactly. But with Wren gone, Santoro can’t afford to stay hidden any longer. His people are starting to move. He’ll make his play soon.”

Mackin finally turned, his face unreadable but his eyes cold with determination. “Then we move first.”

Lambo crossed his arms, his gaze locking with Mackin’s. “We hit him?”

Mackin nodded. “We don’t give him time to get comfortable. We hit him hard, take out his support network, and force him into the open. Santoro’s been hiding for years. It’s time we bring him into the light.”

Lambo smiled, a grim satisfaction on his face. “I’ll get the men ready.”

Mackin’s mind was already racing, formulating the next steps. Santoro’s network was vast, but every empire had weak points. Mackin had always believed that no one was untouchable. Not Bruno, not Lachlan, not even Wren. And certainly not Carmine Santoro.

Across the city, in the dim, luxurious interior of a private penthouse, Carmine Santoro sat at a large, mahogany desk. His dark, neatly combed hair and well-tailored suit gave him the appearance of a respected businessman. But behind the calm façade was a man whose reputation for ruthlessness rivalled Mackin’s. Santoro didn’t build empires the way most men did. He moved through the world like smoke, infiltrating everything without leaving a trace.

Tonight, he was alone, his eyes fixed on a detailed map of the city that covered the entire surface of the desk. The map was marked with dozens of locations—buildings, businesses, warehouses. All of them linked to his intricate web of influence.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the room, and a man entered, his expression tense. “Mr. Santoro, we’ve received word. Mackin Jones has started moving against us.”

Santoro’s eyes didn’t leave the map. “As expected,” he said calmly, his voice smooth and measured. “Jones is predictable. His first move will always be aggression.”

The man hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “Should we prepare for an attack?”

Santoro leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the arms, his face completely composed. “No need to rush. Mackin may be bold, but he’s not reckless. He’s smart enough to know that coming directly for me would be a mistake. He’ll test the waters first—try to weaken my network.”

The man nodded but still seemed uneasy. “What if he finds something? Exposes parts of the operation?”

Santoro smiled, but it was a cold, humourless smile. “Let him try. Mackin may have power, but he’s forgotten the one rule that governs our world.”

The man tilted his head slightly. “And what rule is that, sir?”

Santoro’s eyes gleamed with a quiet, deadly intensity. “Everything can be bought.”

He stood, walking slowly to the large window that overlooked the city. For years, he had watched from this vantage point, pulling strings and manipulating events to suit his needs. Marcus Wren had been a useful tool, but now that Wren was gone, the true game could begin.

“Mackin thinks he’s won a victory by taking out Wren,” Santoro continued, his voice soft but filled with dark confidence. “But he’s only opened the door for something much bigger.”

The man at the door shifted uncomfortably. “Do you want us to make contact with our allies?”

Santoro turned his smile still in place. “Yes. It’s time to remind them who holds the power in this city. Mackin may be king of his little empire, but we are the ones who own the kingdom.”

Mackin stood in front of a table in his private war room, surrounded by maps, documents, and reports detailing Santoro’s vast network. The more he studied it, the more he realised just how deep Santoro’s influence ran. This wasn’t just a man running a criminal empire—Santoro had legitimate holdings, businesses that stretched across industries, investments in politics, real estate, and law enforcement.

“He’s embedded himself in everything,” Lambo said, standing beside Mackin, his voice tight with frustration. “It’s like trying to tear out the roots of an old tree. Every time we think we’ve found an opening, we realise he’s got another connection somewhere else.”

Mackin stared down at the map, his mind churning. “We don’t have to cut out the entire tree. We just need to find the roots that keep it standing.”

Lambo frowned. “You’re thinking of going after his money?”

Mackin’s eyes darkened. “Money is power, Lambo. If we cut off his access to it, he loses everything. We’ve done it before. We can do it again.”

Lambo nodded, though he still looked uneasy. “Santoro’s smart, Mackin. He won’t leave his financial network exposed as Wren did. He’s been planning for something like this for years.”

Mackin’s jaw tightened. “Then we find the one thing he didn’t plan for. Every man like him has a weakness—something they value more than money, more than power.”

Lambo raised an eyebrow. “And what’s Santoro’s weakness?”

Mackin’s voice was cold as he replied, “Control. He’s been hiding for too long. We force him into the light, and we make him fight for everything he’s built. He’s a man who thrives on control—take that away from him, and he’ll unravel.”

Lambo smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Sounds like a plan I can get behind.”

Mackin turned back to the table, his mind already racing through the next steps. They would hit Santoro where it hurt the most—his influence, his finances, his control over the city. But this time, they would do it differently. They would make it public. They would expose Santos’s network to the world, tearing away the veil of respectability he had worked so hard to maintain.

“We start with his legitimate businesses,” Mackin said, his voice steady and cold. “We expose the connections between his criminal operations and his public investments. Once that starts unravelling, the rest of his empire will fall apart.”

Lambo nodded. “I’ll get our people on it. We’ve got contacts in the media—journalists who’ll jump at the chance to take down someone like Santoro.”

Mackin’s eyes gleamed with determination. “Good. This time, we don’t just take him down. We destroy him.”

Santoro’s penthouse was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the room. He sat at his desk, his face calm and composed as he read the latest reports from his operatives. Mackin had begun his offensive, just as Santoro had expected.

But what Mackin didn’t understand was that Santoro had prepared for this. He had anticipated every move, every attack. Mackin was predictable—his strength was also his weakness. He was always struck with brute force, relying on the power he had built through violence and intimidation. But Santoro knew that real power wasn’t about brute strength. It was about patience, about knowing when to move and when to wait.

As he read through the reports, a small smile played on Santoro’s lips. Mackin had made his move, but Santoro was already two steps ahead.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and one of his lieutenants entered, his face serious. “Sir, we’ve received word that Mackin’s men are targeting our legitimate businesses. They’re going public with the information.”

Santoro didn’t react, his calm demeanour unshaken. “As expected. Let them. The more they reveal, the more they expose themselves.”

The lieutenant frowned, unsure of what Santoro meant. “But, sir, if the media gets hold of this—”

Santoro raised a hand, silencing him. “The media works for whoever pays them the most. And in this city, there is no one with deeper pockets than me.”

The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Understood, sir.”

Santoro turned back to the window, his smile widening. Mackin thought he could dismantle Santoro’s empire piece by piece, but he didn’t understand that the empire was already bigger than him.

“This is only the beginning,” Santoro murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming with cold confidence. “Let Mackin play his games. When the time is right, I’ll show him what real power looks like.”

Back in his mansion, Mackin sat in his office, his mind still racing with plans and possibilities. The war with Santoro was just beginning, but Mackin knew that this would be the fight that defined the future of his empire. He had faced enemies before, but none like Santoro—none who understood the game as well as he did.

But Mackin wasn’t afraid.

He had built his empire through fire and blood, and he wasn’t about to let a man like Santoro take it from him.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in darkness, Mackin made a vow to himself.

No matter what it took, no matter how many enemies he had to face, he would come out on top.

The war for control of the city was far from over.

But Mackin Jones had never lost a war before.

And he wasn’t about to start now.