The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 53

As Santoro’s reign tightens around the city, new factions emerge from the shadows, determined to reclaim the power they once held under Mackin Jones.

Led by Mateo, the remnants of Mackin’s empire begin to gather strength, launching a series of calculated attacks against Santoro’s operations. But as the rebellion grows, so do the dangers, and both sides must navigate a deadly game of deception and loyalty.

The war for the city is far from over, and the seeds of rebellion are about to take root.

The streets of the city, now under Carmine Santoro’s iron grip, simmered with a quiet intensity. The kind of stillness that was deceptive, hiding the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface. Santoro’s forces controlled the visible corners of the city—policing the major territories and ensuring that all debts, legal or otherwise, were paid. But in the shadows, there was a different kind of movement. The rebellion was real, but it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t reckless. It was a ghost, haunting Santoro’s newfound reign.

Mateo, the man leading what was left of Mackin Jones’ legacy, knew they couldn’t fight Santoro head-on. Not yet. His strikes had to be subtle, precise, and surgical. His crew was small, and many of Mackin’s former soldiers had either fled or gone into hiding, fearful of Santoro’s sweeping executions. But those who stayed—those who remained loyal—understood what needed to be done.

In the backroom of a dingy bar on the edge of the docks, Mateo sat at a round table with his core team, planning their next move. The smell of cheap liquor and cigarettes filled the air, but there was a charged energy in the room, one that told everyone present that the tides were shifting, even if only slightly. Mateo’s eyes scanned the group—hardened faces, each scarred by their loyalty to Mackin and now to him.

“We need to keep bleeding him,” Mateo said, his voice calm but filled with a quiet intensity. “We hit his operations where it hurts—his money, his shipments. Santoro’s built this empire on the idea that he’s untouchable. We remind him that he’s not.”

Tony, sitting to Mateo’s right, leaned forward. “Last hit took out a quarter of his supply lines. He’s going to feel that one for a while. But he’s already bolstering security. It’s only a matter of time before we start losing guys.”

Mateo’s jaw tightened. He knew the risk they were taking. Every strike they made against Santoro’s empire came with the possibility of retaliation. But that was the nature of war, and this was a war they couldn’t afford to lose. “We’ve bought ourselves some time,” Mateo said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes dark. “But we need to go bigger. Santoro’s focussing on small disruptions, but we need to shake him at his core.”

The others exchanged uneasy glances. They had already suffered losses, and Mateo’s plan to escalate the fight meant more danger, and more exposure. But they also knew he was right. Santoro had to be shaken—had to be made to feel vulnerable.

“So, what’s the target?” Tony asked, his brow furrowed.

Mateo pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and unfolded it on the table, revealing a map of one of Santoro’s largest cash houses, a location used to launder and transport the vast sums of money that flowed through his criminal empire. “Here,” Mateo said, tapping the map. “This is where we hit him next. His biggest operation. If we pull this off, we’ll put a serious dent in his cash flow. He won’t be able to ignore us anymore.”

Luis, another one of Mateo’s men, leaned forward, his face sceptical. “That’s a fortress, Mateo. He’s got that place locked down tighter than any of his other operations.”

Mateo’s gaze remained steady. “Exactly. And that’s why he won’t expect it.”

There was a long pause as the group considered the plan. It was risky, but if they could pull it off, it would send shockwaves through Santoro’s organisation. It wasn’t just about the money—it was about showing Santoro’s men that he wasn’t invincible. That his reign could be challenged.

Tony finally nodded. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”

One by one, the others followed suit, their determination hardening. Mateo had rekindled the fire Mackin had started, and now they would make Santoro feel the heat.

Across the city, Carmine Santoro was already starting to feel the pressure. His network of informants had been buzzing with reports of more sabotage—another shipment disrupted, another safehouse compromised. The losses were small, but they were piling up. And for a man who had built his empire on control, every small loss was like a splinter burrowing into his skin.

Vito entered the penthouse office, his face grim. “We’ve confirmed it was Mateo’s crew again. They hit another one of our transport routes last night. Took out the whole convoy.”

Santoro’s fist tightened around the crystal glass of whisky in his hand, but his face remained calm, his mind calculating. “How many men?”

“Four dead, two missing,” Vito replied. “The others were taken out before they could get to the shipment.”

Santoro’s eyes narrowed. “Mateo’s getting bolder.”

Vito nodded. “He knows we’re watching him, but he’s still making moves. He’s got support from some of the smaller factions—probably the ones still loyal to Mackin’s memory.”

Santoro’s gaze drifted to the window, where the city stretched out like a vast jungle of power and opportunity. He had come too far to let the remnants of Mackin’s empire chip away at his control. Mateo was becoming a problem, one that needed to be solved immediately.

“We need to cut the head off the snake,” Santoro said coldly. “Find Mateo. Make sure there’s nowhere left for him to hide.”

Vito hesitated for a moment. “We’ve been trying, Carmine. But he’s smart. He’s not running his crew the way Mackin did. Mateo’s staying mobile—hitting us and then disappearing before we can track him down.”

Santoro’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Then make him stop running. Double the pressure on his people. Turn them against him. Every man has a breaking point.”

Vito gave a sharp nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

As Vito left the room, Santoro swirled the whisky in his glass, his mind already racing with possibilities. Mateo was dangerous, but not because of his strength. It was his cunning, his ability to slip through the cracks and exploit weaknesses. Santoro had underestimated him once, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

This time, when they found Mateo, there would be no mercy.

The plan was set, and Mateo’s crew moved under the cover of darkness. The cash house was heavily guarded, but Mateo had spent weeks studying the operation, looking for every weakness, every blind spot in Santoro’s defences. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

Tony led the first team, slipping through a side entrance while Mateo and the others covered the perimeter. Their goal was to hit fast, grab as much of the cash as they could, and disappear before Santoro’s men could respond.

Inside, the cash house buzzed with activity. Guards patrolled the halls, and the sound of counting machines whirred in the background. Everything was running smoothly—until it wasn’t.

Tony’s team struck first, taking down the guards near the loading docks with silent precision. Within moments, the back door was open, and they began loading the cash into waiting trucks.

But it wasn’t long before the alarms went off.

“Move, move, move!” Tony shouted as gunfire erupted from the far end of the warehouse. Santoro’s men had reacted faster than expected, and now the air was filled with the sharp crack of bullets and the dull thud of bodies hitting the ground.

Mateo grinned his teeth, firing back as he covered the retreat. This wasn’t going according to plan, but they had no choice but to see it through.

“Get the trucks out of here!” Mateo shouted. “We’ve got to move before they close in!”

The trucks roared to life, tyres screeching as they peeled out of the warehouse. Mateo’s crew fought their way to the exit, but the chaos was closing in. More of Santoro’s men were arriving, and it was only a matter of time before they were outnumbered.

As the last of his men scrambled into the trucks, Mateo stayed behind, covering their retreat with a hail of gunfire. He could feel the walls closing in, the pressure mounting, but he wasn’t about to let this operation fail.

Suddenly, a bullet tore through his side, sending him stumbling back. Pain radiated through his body, but he forced himself to keep moving, dragging himself towards the nearest truck.

“Mateo!” Tony shouted, reaching out to pull him inside.

With one final push, Mateo collapsed into the truck, blood seeping through his shirt as they sped away from the warehouse. The adrenaline kept him conscious, but barely.

As the city lights blurred past, Mateo gritted his teeth, his mind already focused on the next move. They had hit Santoro hard, but the cost had been high.

This war was far from over.

Santoro stood in the wreckage of his cash house, his face a mask of fury. Bodies littered the floor, and the stench of blood and gunpowder hung in the air. His men moved silently around him, too afraid to speak, knowing that their boss was on the edge of rage.

Vito approached cautiously, his expression tense. “They got away with a significant amount of cash. Mateo’s crew hit us harder than we expected.”

Santoro’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he stared at the damage. “Find him,” he said quietly, his voice like ice. “I want Mateo’s head. No more games.”

Vito nodded, though the tension in his shoulders remained. “We’ll track him down.”

As Vito turned to leave, Santoro’s gaze darkened. He had been patient, but his patience was wearing thin. Mateo’s rebellion had grown more dangerous than he had anticipated, and now it was threatening to tear down everything he had built.

But this time, Santoro wouldn’t just crush the rebellion. He would make an example of them, a bloody reminder that no one challenged his rule and lived to tell the tale.

The king was about to strike back.