The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 46

Mackin’s empire is crumbling. His men are turning on him, and Santoro’s plan to dismantle him from the inside is reaching its final stages. As Mackin faces betrayal on all sides, he must decide how far he’s willing to go to survive—and who he’s willing to sacrifice to keep his throne. The war for control of the city reaches its breaking point, and Mackin’s fate hangs in the balance.

One way or another, the king is about to fall.

Mackin Jones paced the length of his office, the tension in the room suffocating. The darkness outside pressed against the windows, but inside, it was the silent unravelling of his empire that occupied his thoughts. Hours earlier, his men had carried out a flawless operation—three of Carmine Santoro’s financial hubs, critical to his criminal empire, had been destroyed. On paper, it was a victory. But something didn’t sit right. There was no pushback from Santoro’s forces, no retaliation.

Lambo sat across from Mackin rifling through the latest reports. “Santoro’s men are moving, but not the way we expected,” he muttered, frustration evident in his voice. “We crippled him, but it’s like he doesn’t care. There’s no panic.”

Mackin stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing. “Because he doesn’t care, Lambo. We played his game, and now it’s our turn to pay.”

Lambo looked up, his brow furrowed. “You think this was a setup?”

Mackin exhaled slowly, nodding. “We hit his money, but money wasn’t what he was protecting. Santoro’s been planning this for years. He’s playing on a whole different level, and we just stepped into his trap.”

The silence between them was thick. Lambo rubbed his chin, thinking. “So, what now? If he’s playing a long game, we’re running out of time. Word on the street is that some of our guys are starting to doubt whether you can keep control.”

Mackin clenched his fists, his voice low and menacing. “Who’s talking?”

Lambo hesitated before answering. “Names aren’t clear yet, but people are saying Santoro’s offering them deals. He’s promising them a place in his organisation when this is all over.”

Mackin’s blood boiled. Betrayal. It was always lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment. And now, Santoro was using it against him, turning his people against him. Mackin had seen it happen before, but this time, it was hitting closer to home.

He slammed his fist down on the desk. “I want names. I want to know who’s been meeting with Santoro’s people. Find out who’s thinking about jumping ship, and we deal with them before they can turn.”

Lambo gave a sharp nod. “I’ll put out the word. But Mackin... we’re not just dealing with scared lieutenants. If this goes deeper—if Santoro’s got higher-ups in our ranks—we could be looking at a full-scale mutiny.”

Mackin’s jaw tightened. He had always ruled with an iron fist, commanding loyalty through fear and respect. But Santoro had chipped away at that foundation, planting seeds of doubt. The cracks were starting to show.

“Then we remind them why they follow me,” Mackin growled. “We show them what happens to traitors.”

On the other side of the city, Carmine Santoro sat in his penthouse, a satisfied smile playing across his lips. He had just gotten off the phone with one of Mackin’s closest men, a lieutenant who had been with Mackin for over a decade. The man had agreed to switch sides, lured by the promise of safety and a share in Santoro’s growing empire.

“Another one down,” Vito said, standing by the window and watching the city lights flicker below. “Mackin’s people are starting to see the writing on the wall. He’s losing control.”

Santoro leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Good. That’s exactly what we want. Mackin’s strength has always been his ability to make people believe in him, to make them think he’s invincible. Once they see that he’s just a man—just a man who can bleed—they’ll turn on him.”

Vito nodded. “The cracks are widening. We’ve already got some of his top lieutenants making quiet moves towards us. They’re testing the waters, seeing if we’ll take them in.”

Santoro smiled coldly. “We will. As long as they serve their purpose. Once Mackin’s empire falls, they’ll be disposable.”

Vito smirked. “Mackin’s making his next move, though. We’ve gotten word he’s hunting down anyone he suspects of betrayal.”

Santos chuckled softly. “Let him. The more paranoid he becomes, the more isolated he’ll be. Soon, he won’t know who to trust.”

He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the city that was slowly coming under his control. The lights below twinkled like stars, and Santoro could already see himself at the centre of it all, pulling the strings of power.

“Mackin built his empire on fear, but now fear is working against him. And when the time is right, we’ll deliver the final blow.”

The next day, Mackin sat in a dark, smoke-filled room, waiting. Lambo had tracked down one of the men suspected of meeting with Santoro’s people, a mid-level enforcer who had always seemed loyal—until now. Mackin had decided to handle this one personally.

The door creaked open, and two of Mackin’s men dragged the enforcer into the room, throwing him to the ground in front of Mackin. The man’s face was bruised, his lip split, but his eyes still flickered with defiance.

Mackin stood slowly, his shadow looming over the man like a predator ready to strike. “You’ve been talking to Santoro,” Mackin said quietly, his voice cold as ice. “I want to know why.”

The enforcer spat blood onto the floor, but he didn’t answer. His silence spoke volumes, and Mackin’s patience was wearing thin.

“Do you think Santoro’s going to save you?” Mackin asked, his voice calm but lethal. “Do you think he’s going to give you anything once I’m gone?”

The man finally spoke, his voice hoarse but filled with defiance. “I don’t think you’re going to win this one, Mackin. Santos’s got too many people in his pocket. You’re losing control.”

Mackin’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. He crouched down so that he was eye-level with the enforcer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then let me show you what happens when people think I’m losing control.”

In one swift motion, Mackin drew his gun and fired, the sound of the shot deafening in the small room. The enforcer’s body slumped to the floor, lifeless.

Lambo, standing in the corner, didn’t flinch. He had seen this before, and he knew what it meant.

Mackin stood, holstering his gun. “We make sure the rest of them get the message. No one turns on me and lives.”

Lambo nodded, but there was tension in his voice when he spoke. “The others might not be as easy to scare. Santoro’s promising them something you can’t—security. He’s got the money, the connections, and the power to back it up.”

Mackin’s jaw clenched. “Then we take away that security. We show them that Santoro’s promises are empty. We hit his people harder; make them afraid to cross me.”

Lambo didn’t argue, but there was a flicker of something—doubt perhaps—behind his eyes.

The war between Mackin and Santoro had reached a fever pitch. Every day, more of Mackin’s men were being approached by Santoro’s people and offered deals in exchange for their loyalty. And every day, Mackin’s grip on the city seemed to slip just a little more.

But Mackin wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

He sat in his office late one night, staring down at a map of the city, his mind racing. There had to be a way to turn the tide, a way to remind his men why they had followed him in the first place. Santoro was a master manipulator, but he wasn’t invincible.

The phone on his desk buzzed, and Mackin answered it without taking his eyes off the map. “What is it?”

“It’s Leone,” came the voice on the other end. “He says he’s got information. Big. Something you’ll want to hear.”

Mackin’s heart skipped a beat. Vincent Leone had been his ace in the hole—a man who had connections even Santoro couldn’t reach. If Leone had information, it could change everything.

“Set up a meeting,” Mackin said, his voice filled with quiet urgency. “Tonight.”

Later that night, Mackin and Lambo pulled up to a quiet, secluded mansion on the outskirts of the city. It was one of Vincent Leone’s properties, a place where he often held meetings with those he trusted. As they entered the large, dimly lit study, Vincent was already waiting, a glass of whisky in his hand.

“Mackin,” Vincent said, standing to greet him. “You’re looking like a man in need of good news.”

Mackin shook his hand, his face unreadable. “Depends on what you’ve got for me.”

Vincent sat down, gesturing for Mackin and Lambo to do the same. “Santoro’s been making moves, big ones. But there’s a crack in his armour. One of his top lieutenants is getting cold feet. He’s not as loyal as Santoro thinks.”

Mackin leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Who?”

Vincent smiled. “Vito. He’s been Santoro’s right-hand man for years, but lately, he’s been feeling the heat. He’s scared. And when a man like Vito gets scared, he starts looking for a way out.”

Mackin’s mind raced. If Vito was willing to turn on Santoro, it could be the opening he needed to dismantle Santoro’s empire from within.

“You think he’ll switch sides?” Mackin asked, his voice sharp.

Vincent took a sip of his whisky, his eyes gleaming. “For the right price, I think he will. But you’ll have to move fast. Santoro’s not stupid—he’ll sense something’s off soon enough.”

Mackin stood, his heart pounding with a newfound sense of urgency. “Then we move now.”

As the night deepened, Mackin prepared for his next move. He had always known that the war with Santoro would come down to one decisive moment, one act that would tip the balance. And now, with Vito’s potential betrayal on the horizon, that moment had arrived.

But as Mackin stared out at the city, he couldn’t shake the feeling that even if he won this battle, the war would leave scars that couldn’t be healed. Santoro had already pushed him to the edge, and the cost of victory was rising with every passing day.

Mackin had built his empire on fear and power, but now he wondered if he could hold onto it without losing everything else.

The final confrontation was coming.

And only one of them would walk away from it.