The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 55

With Nico’s rebellion quietly gathering strength, Santoro faces new threats from within his ranks as his empire begins to fracture.

The city is on the brink of chaos once more, and Santoro must confront the reality that ruling with fear may not be enough to keep his kingdom intact.

As old enemies resurface and new alliances are forged, the battle for control of the city enters its most dangerous phase yet.

The game of power is never over, and the city’s throne is still up for grabs.

The calm before the storm was deceptive, and Carmen Santoro knew it. The streets were quieter than they had been in weeks, but silence in this city meant trouble was brewing just beneath the surface. Santoro stood in his office, staring out at the skyline, his reflection ghostly in the glass. It had been weeks since Mateo’s rebellion was crushed, but the aftermath still lingered like a thick fog. Now, Nico, Mateo’s second-in-command, was working in the shadows, slowly eroding the empire that Santoro had fought so hard to claim.

Vito’s intel was clear: Nico was gathering support, and not just from the remnants of Mackin’s crew. Smaller gangs—those who had stayed neutral during the war—were starting to rally around him. They were biding their time, waiting for Santoro to slip, for his grip on the city to loosen just enough for them to strike. And Nico was smart. He wasn’t making flashy moves. He was cutting deep where it hurt most—Santoro’s operations, his supply chains, his cash flow. It was death by a thousand cuts.

“Get in here,” Santoro barked into the intercom. A moment later, Vito entered the room, his face grim as always. He had aged in these past weeks; the pressure of maintaining Santoro’s empire was wearing on him. But there was something else too, something darker—fear.

“You asked for me?” Vito’s voice was careful, neutral.

Santoro didn’t turn around. “We have to put an end to this, Vito. I want Nico dead.”

Vito nodded, though there was hesitation in his posture. “We’ve been trying to track him down, but he’s slippery. He’s not staying in one place for long, and he’s keeping his crew small. The moment we get close, he vanishes.”

Santoro’s hands clenched into fists. “Then get creative. I don’t care what it takes. Find someone, buy someone; I don’t care—just bring me Nico. Alive or dead.”

Vito looked uneasy but nodded again. “I’ll send our best men.”

Santoro finally turned, his eyes burning with intensity. “No. This is bigger than just sending men. This needs to be personal. I want to send a message that no one, not Nico or anyone else, can challenge me and live. We find him, and we make sure everyone in this city knows what happens to those who defy me.”

Vito hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had seen what this war had done to Santoro—what it had turned him into. The cold, calculating boss who once ruled the city’s underworld with precision had become something else. Desperation had crept into his voice, and desperation in men like Santoro led to recklessness.

“I’ll make the call,” Vito said finally, turning to leave.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Santoro leaned against his desk, his mind racing. The city had once seemed so simple. Take out Mackin, claim the throne, and rule with an iron fist. But now, with Nico still out there and his men growing restless, Santoro could feel the threads of his empire starting to unravel.

And that scared him more than anything.

Nico crouched in the shadows of an old, crumbling church in one of the city’s forgotten districts. The place had been abandoned for years, and now it served as a temporary hideout for what remained of Mateo’s loyalists. They were few, but they were dedicated. Nico had managed to keep them alive by moving constantly, hitting Santoro’s operations with quick, precise strikes before disappearing into the city’s maze of back alleys and forgotten streets.

But he knew they couldn’t keep this up forever. Santoro was too powerful, too entrenched. Every strike they made took a toll on Santoro’s empire, but it also took a toll on Nico’s crew. They were running low on supplies and low on morale, and Santoro’s men were always just a step behind them.

“Tony’s scouting the next target,” said Luis, one of Nico’s oldest allies. He sat across from Nico, his face drawn and tired. “We need to move soon, or we’ll lose our momentum.”

Nico nodded, though his mind was already elsewhere. Luis was right—they needed to keep the pressure on Santoro, but the problem was that they were playing a dangerous game. The more they hit Santoro, the more he would come down on them. It wasn’t a matter of if Santoro would find them, but when.

“We need to start thinking bigger,” Nico said, his voice steady despite the tension in his chest. “The raids are hurting him, but they’re not enough. Santoro still controls the flow of money, and as long as he controls the money, he controls the city.”

Luis frowned. “So what do you have in mind?”

Nico leaned forward, his eyes dark. “We go after his cash houses again, but this time, we don’t just steal from him. We burn it all.”

Luis’s eyes widened. “You want to torch his entire operation?”

Nico nodded. “It’s the only way. Santoro can recover from a few hits to his supply lines, but if we take out his cash flow, his whole empire starts to crumble. His men are loyal because they’re paid. Take away their money, and they start looking for the exits.”

Luis sat back, considering the plan. It was bold, maybe even suicidal, but it was the kind of move that could change everything. “Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s do it.”

That night, Nico’s crew prepared for what could be their final move. The target was one of Santoro’s largest cash operations, a warehouse near the docks that funnelled millions in dirty money through a network of offshore accounts and shell companies.

It was heavily guarded, but Nico had spent weeks studying the patterns of the guards, the deliveries, and the deliveries. He knew when to strike, and more importantly, when Santoro’s defences would be at their weakest.

The plan was simple: hit hard, hit fast, and leave nothing behind.

As the crew gathered in the abandoned church, Nico addressed them, his voice steady but intense. “We’ve been hitting Santoro for weeks now, and we’ve made him bleed. But tonight, we’re going for the heart. If we pull this off, Santos won’t be able to recover. His men will turn on him, and his empire will fall.”

The crew was silent, but their faces were set in grim determination. They knew the risks, but they also knew that this was their best shot at taking Santoro down.

Tony stood, his hand resting on his gun. “What happens if we fail?”

Nico’s gaze hardened. “Then we don’t make it out. But if we succeed, we take back the city.”

With that, the crew moved out, slipping through the darkened streets like shadows. The city was quiet, but Nico knew that somewhere out there, Santoro’s men were watching, waiting. He could feel the tension in the air, the sense that everything was building towards something big. Something final.

Back at the penthouse, Santoro paced the room, his mind racing. Vito had sent out the call to track down Nico, but so far, nothing had come back. The waiting was wearing on Santoro. He wasn’t used to being on the defensive, and the longer Nico stayed out there, the more vulnerable he felt.

“We’ve got to move faster,” Santoro muttered to himself as he poured another drink. “We can’t let him keep doing this.”

The door opened, and Vito entered, his expression tense. “We’ve got a problem.”

Santoro set the glass down, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

“One of our informants tipped us off,” Vito said, stepping closer. “Nico’s crew is planning a hit on one of our cash houses. The big one by the docks.”

Santoro’s blood ran cold. The cash house at the docks was one of his most important operations, handling millions in dirty money every week. If Nico managed to destroy it, the damage would be catastrophic.

“How long do we have?” Santoro demanded.

“Not long,” Vito replied. “We’ve already sent men to reinforce the security, but Nico’s smart. If he’s going for it, he’s already got a plan in place.”

Santoro slammed his fist onto the desk, the rage boiling inside him. “Then we kill him. We kill him tonight.”

As Nico’s crew arrived at the docks, the tension was palpable. They moved quickly, slipping through the shadows and positioning themselves around the perimeter of the warehouse. The guards were there, as expected, but Nico had planned for that. They would take out the guards quietly, slip inside, and then set the charges. Once the warehouse was burning, Santo’s empire would follow.

But something felt off.

Tony, crouched beside Nico, whispered, “We’ve got movement up ahead. More guards than we expected.”

Nico cursed under his breath. Santoro must have reinforced security. They had to move fast or they’d lose the element of surprise.

“Stick to the plan,” Nico whispered back. “We take them out quietly, then we hit the warehouse.”

Tony nodded, and the crew moved into position. But before they could make their move, the sound of gunfire tore through the night.

“It’s a trap!” someone shouted.

Suddenly, the docks erupted in chaos. Santoro’s men, already in position, opened fire from all sides, pinning Nico’s crew down before they could even reach the warehouse. Bullets ricocheted off steel containers, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the sharp crack of gunfire.

Nico dove for cover, his heart pounding as he fired back. It was a setup. Santoro had known they were coming.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Tony yelled, scrambling to reload.

Nico’s mind raced. They had been outmanoeuvred, but he couldn’t retreat now. Not after they had come this far. “We stick to the plan!” Nico shouted. “Get the charges inside the warehouse!”

But even as he said it, he knew they were out of time. Santoro’s men were closing in, and the situation was spiralling out of control.

“Move, now!” Nico shouted, pushing Tony forward as they tried to fight their way through the gunfire.

But it was too late. Santoro’s men had them surrounded.

Back at the penthouse, Santoro watched the scene unfold on a security feed, his eyes cold and unblinking. He had known Nico would come for the cash house. He had been waiting for this moment, the moment when Nico’s rebellion would end for good.

“Do we move in?” Vito asked, standing beside him.

Santoro’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Let them burn.”

And with that, the final move in the war for the city was set in motion.