The Rise of Mackin Jones

Chapter 58

The body of Giovanni was still warm when it hit the city streets. Vito’s men had dragged it from the penthouse, leaving it as a warning for all to see. The message was clear: no one betrays Santoro and lives to tell about it. But even as the blood dried on the cold pavement, the whispers grew louder. Santoro had struck down one of his own, and the cracks in his empire were widening.

In the shadows, Nico’s name was being spoken more frequently. He had become a myth, a symbol of defiance, and the rumor mill spun wild tales of his return. Some claimed he was dead, others believed he was rallying the smaller factions for a final stand against Santoro. And Nico, hidden away in the depths of the city, was carefully fueling those whispers.

From his hideout, Nico listened as Luis returned from another scouting mission, the faint hum of the city filtering through the broken windows. Luis’s face was drawn, tired from weeks of living in the margins, but his eyes were sharper than ever. “The city’s shifting, Nico. Santoro’s men are on edge. Giovanni’s execution—it’s got them rattled.”

Nico leaned forward, his fingers brushing the fresh bandages around his chest. The wound had healed enough for him to move, but the pain still lingered, a constant reminder of how close he had come to death. “Good. Fear makes them sloppy.”

Luis nodded, but there was an edge of caution in his voice. “The problem is, Santoro’s getting paranoid. He’s cutting down anyone he thinks is a threat. His men are scared, but that makes them more dangerous.”

Nico’s jaw tightened. “We’re close. Closer than we’ve ever been.”

Luis hesitated, then sat down beside Nico. “But close isn’t enough. We lost too many at the docks, Nico. We don’t have the numbers to take him head-on.”

Nico knew Luis was right. His crew had been decimated, their operations crippled by the trap Santoro had set. But he also knew that this was his best shot. Santoro’s empire was fragile, his men were scared, and the city itself was teetering on the edge of chaos. They didn’t need an army to take Santoro down. They just needed the right push.

“There’s one way,” Nico said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Luis frowned. “What are you thinking?”

Nico’s eyes darkened, his mind already turning the pieces of the plan over in his head. “We turn his own men against him. Santoro’s lost their loyalty—they’re afraid of him, but they don’t trust him anymore. If we can get to the right people, we can make them believe that they’re better off with us.”

Luis looked skeptical. “You think we can pull that off?”

Nico leaned back, exhaling slowly. “We don’t have a choice. Santoro’s been running this city through fear, but fear only lasts so long. His men are loyal because they think he’s invincible. We show them he’s not, and they’ll turn on him.”

Luis sat in silence for a moment, considering the plan. It was dangerous, risky, but it wasn’t impossible. And if anyone could make it work, it was Nico. “Alright,” Luis said finally. “Who do we go after?”

Nico smiled, a grim, determined expression. “We go after his lieutenants. The ones who’ve been with him the longest. If we can turn just one, the rest will follow.”

While Nico plotted his next move, Santoro’s paranoia continued to fester. The days after Giovanni’s death were tense, his men walking on eggshells, afraid to make even the smallest mistake. Santoro had made it clear that disloyalty would be met with death, but that only served to make his men more desperate. Loyalty built on fear was brittle, and Santoro knew it.

In the quiet of his penthouse, Santoro stared out at the city, his mind racing. He had crushed every rebellion, silenced every whisper, and yet, it didn’t feel like victory. The more blood he spilled, the more it seemed to slip through his fingers. And now, with Giovanni’s betrayal, he could sense the tide turning against him.

Vito entered the room, his face grim as usual. “The streets are quiet, but they’re watching, waiting to see what happens next.”

Santoro’s eyes narrowed. “Nico?”

Vito nodded. “His name’s still out there. People are saying he’s alive, and that he’s planning something big. We’ve put more men on the hunt, but there’s no sign of him.”

Santoro clenched his jaw, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. “Then put more pressure on them. Turn the screws. If they won’t give up Nico, we make them bleed until they do.”

Vito hesitated. “That might backfire, boss. Your men are already on edge. If we push too hard, we risk breaking them.”

Santoro’s eyes flashed with anger, but deep down, he knew Vito was right. His empire was cracking, and the harder he pushed, the more fragile it became. But he couldn’t afford to let Nico slip away again. Not now.

“We have to find him, Vito,” Santoro said, his voice low but dangerous. “If we don’t, this city will tear itself apart.”

Vito nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something Santoro had seen more and more lately. Doubt. Vito had been with him from the beginning, but even his loyalty was showing signs of wear. And Santoro knew that if he lost Vito, the rest of his men would follow.

As Vito left the room, Santoro turned back to the window, his reflection staring back at him like a ghost. He had built his empire on fear, on control, but now he could feel it slipping. The city was still his, but for how long?

Nico’s plan was already in motion. He had spent weeks studying Santoro’s lieutenants, watching for the smallest signs of discontent, the cracks in their loyalty. And now, he had found his target: Lorenzo, one of Santoro’s oldest and most trusted men. Lorenzo had been with Santoro since the beginning, but lately, he had been keeping his distance, avoiding the bloodshed that had become a daily part of Santoro’s rule.

Nico knew men like Lorenzo—men who valued their own survival over blind loyalty. And Lorenzo had seen enough of Santoro’s paranoia to know that his own life could be on the line if he didn’t play his cards right.

Luis and Nico had arranged a quiet meeting with Lorenzo, using one of their old connections to set it up without Santoro’s knowledge. It was risky, but Nico knew it was their best shot.

The meeting took place in an empty warehouse on the outskirts of the city, far from Santoro’s reach. Lorenzo arrived alone, his face tense as he stepped inside, scanning the shadows.

“Lorenzo,” Nico said, stepping forward from the darkness, his voice calm but commanding. “Thanks for coming.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. “This is a bad idea. If Santoro finds out—”

“He won’t,” Nico interrupted, his gaze steady. “Unless you tell him.”

Lorenzo hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. He had been with Santoro for years, but the weight of that loyalty was starting to feel like a noose around his neck. He had seen what Santoro was capable of—Giovanni’s execution had made that clear.

“What do you want?” Lorenzo asked finally, his voice guarded.

Nico didn’t waste time. “Santoro’s losing control. You know it, and I know it. His men are scared, his empire is cracking, and it’s only a matter of time before everything falls apart.”

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t deny it.

“You’ve been with him for a long time,” Nico continued. “And that’s why you know that when things start falling apart, Santoro’s going to look for someone to blame. He’s paranoid, and the moment he thinks you’re not loyal, he’ll come for you.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you don’t have to go down with him,” Nico said, his voice firm. “You can help us. Help me. When Santoro falls, you’ll have a place with us.”

Lorenzo hesitated again, his mind racing. He had seen what happened to traitors, but he had also seen the writing on the wall. Santoro’s reign was fragile, and if he stayed loyal, he might end up dead either way.

“You really think you can take him down?” Lorenzo asked, his voice filled with doubt.

Nico smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “I know I can.”

As Lorenzo left the warehouse, his mind buzzing with the weight of his decision, Nico turned to Luis. “He’ll come around,” Nico said, his voice confident.

Luis nodded, though there was a hint of caution in his eyes. “And if he doesn’t?”

Nico’s gaze hardened. “Then we’ll take him out, just like we’ll take out Santoro.”

The pieces were moving, slowly but surely. Santoro’s empire was crumbling from within, and soon, the final push would come. Nico knew it was only a matter of time before everything fell into place.

Meanwhile, in the penthouse, Santoro paced the floor, his mind racing with thoughts of betrayal and rebellion. He could feel the noose tightening around him, but he didn’t know where the next strike would come from. Nico was out there, waiting, planning, and Santoro knew that his time was running out.

Vito entered the room again, his face grim. “We’ve been hearing rumors, boss. Some of the smaller crews are starting to talk. They think Nico’s coming back.”

Santoro’s eyes flashed with fury. “I don’t care what they think. We find Nico, and we end this.”

Vito nodded, but the tension between them was palpable. Santoro could feel it—the doubt, the fear, the cracks in his empire that were growing wider with each passing day. And somewhere in the shadows, Nico was waiting, ready to make his final move.

The king’s throne was more fragile than ever, and the phantom in the shadows was rising.