Chapter 12: Laughing at the Abyss

The abandoned warehouse smelled of damp concrete, mildew, and bad decisions—a fitting hideout for a dead man plotting his resurrection. 

Dom sat on an overturned crate, stirring the last dregs of his coffee with a plastic spoon.

It was bitter and burnt, but it kept his hands steady.

Across from him, Marco slumped against a stack of old pallets, a half-empty bottle of bourbon balanced precariously in his grip.

He squinted at the bottle like it had betrayed him. 

"You ever notice," Marco slurred, "how bad service has gotten in this city? Can't even get a decent pour without some asshole trying to kill you." 

Dom sighed, rubbing his temples. "Mack." 

Marco blinked at him, then gestured vaguely with the bottle. "You know I think better when I'm a little lubricated." 

"The only thing flowing right now is your piss," Dom muttered. "Now focus." 

Marco grunted, taking another swig. "Focus? Dom, this plan is nuts. Even by your standards." 

Dom smirked. "That's why it'll work." 

For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Marco broke it with a bitter laugh.

"If Vinnie knew how much time we spent scheming in this dump, he'd probably piss himself laughing." 

Dom's expression didn't change. "Let him laugh. By the time he figures out what's coming, it'll be too late." 

Marco nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in his eyes. 

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They needed a couple of idiots. And lucky for them, the city was full of them. 

Dom had been watching Gino and Paulie—two small-time wannabes who had been sniffing around for a way to make a name for themselves. They were loud, greedy, and exactly the kind of dumb that made them useful. 

Tonight, Dom was going to make them feel like kings. And then? Turn them into pawns. 

These kinds of men weren't born killers—they were made desperate.

Desperate enough to take risks they wouldn't otherwise consider.

Dom knew their type all too well: men chasing shadows, hoping to step into the light of power without realizing they were walking straight into darkness. 

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The meeting was set at Rossi's Bar, the kind of place where deals were made over whiskey and regrets.

Marco sat at the bar nursing another drink while Dom took a booth in the back, waiting. 

Gino and Paulie arrived late—typical. They strutted in like they owned the place, dressed in knockoff designer suits, cheap cologne strong enough to melt paint. 

Paulie slid into the booth first, grinning. "Dom Ricci. Heard you were dead." 

Dom smirked. "You wish." 

Gino laughed nervously. "So, uh… we hear you got an opportunity." 

Dom leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Biggest move of your lives. But only if you can handle it." 

They practically vibrated with excitement. 

"This is your chance," Dom continued. "You do this for me, and you prove you got what it takes to sit at the big table." 

Paulie nudged Gino. "You hear that? The big table." 

Gino nodded eagerly. "So… what do you need?" 

Dom took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "Pasqual." 

Silence. The name alone was enough to make them shift in their seats. 

"You want us to take out Pasqual?" Gino finally asked, voice dropping an octave. 

Dom nodded. "Consider it a loyalty test. Do it within twenty- four hours, and you're in." 

Paulie swallowed hard. "Pasqual's got connections, Dom. That's a big ask." 

Dom leaned back, shrugging. "Maybe you're not as ambitious as I thought." 

That did it. 

Their egos were too fragile to back down. 

"We'll do it," Gino blurted. 

Dom smiled. "Good boys." 

As the two morons left, Dom let himself relax slightly. Greed was a powerful motivator—and these two were drowning in it.

If everything went according to plan, their ambition would lead them directly into Vinnie's crosshairs. 

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As the two idiots left, Marco ambled over from the bar. "Dom, I gotta ask—what the hell are we doing?" 

Dom smirked. "We're making Vinnie's life hell." 

Marco snorted. "By using those two morons?" 

"They want to be gangsters? Fine. Let's give them a crash course." 

Dom nodded toward Lucky, who had been sitting in the corner the whole time, watching. 

"Kid, you got the next part?" 

Lucky grinned, his sharp eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I got eyes on Pasqual. He'll be exactly where he needs to be." 

Marco raised an eyebrow. "And after they whack him?" 

Dom exhaled slowly, swirling his drink. "Afterward, Vinnie will see the writing on the wall. Someone's gunning for his allies. Maybe even for him." 

Marco frowned. "But won't that just make him tighten his grip?" 

"Exactly," Dom said, leaning back in his chair. "Fear makes people predictable.

Vinnie'll start cutting loose anyone he thinks might be a threat. And when he starts bleeding allies, he bleeds power." 

Marco shook his head, still unsure. "It's risky, Dom. Real risky." 

Dom met his gaze, his smile sharp and cold. "Risky works. Trust me." 

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Twenty-four hours later, Dom sat at the bar, nursing a drink, waiting for the inevitable. 

The breaking news came on the tiny TV mounted above the liquor shelves. 

"Authorities have confirmed the assassination of Pasqual Bianchi in what appears to be a home invasion gone wrong…" 

Marco choked on his bourbon. "Son of a bitch. Those idiots actually did it." 

Dom smirked. "Of course they did. I told you—greed makes fools predictable." 

Marco shook his head in disbelief. "And now what?" 

Dom swirled his drink, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. 

"Now?" He let out a low chuckle. "Now, we make sure Vinnie thinks he's next." 

He turned to Marco, his voice quieter now. "Vinnie's already paranoid. This hit—right under his nose—it'll push him over the edge.

He'll start looking for leaks, questioning everyone around him. By the time he realizes it's me pulling the strings, it'll be too late." 

Marco exhaled, shaking his head. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" 

Dom took a sip of whiskey, savoring it. "Mack, life's too serious not to laugh sometimes." 

His words carried weight—not just humor, but resolve. Revenge wasn't just about striking back; it was about owning the game, turning every piece on the board into a weapon. 

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From her usual spot near the door, Mira watched the scene unfold.

She hadn't spoken since arriving, content to observe from the edges. But now, as the news played on the screen, she stepped closer. 

"That was messy," she said softly, her tone measured. 

Dom glanced up, unbothered. "Messy gets results." 

Mira tilted her head slightly. "Or messy gets noticed. You think Vinnie won't connect the dots eventually?" 

Dom's smirk widened. "Eventually doesn't matter. What matters is now.

Right now, Vinnie's spinning his wheels, wondering who's moving against him.

And while he's distracted, we keep building." 

Mira studied him for a moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Then she nodded, stepping back into the shadows. 

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As the night wore on, the bar emptied, leaving only Dom, Marco, and Lucky.

Outside, the rain began to fall again, its steady rhythm matching the pulse of Dom's thoughts. 

He thought about Vinnie—how the other man must be reacting to the news.

Would he lash out blindly? Tighten his grip until his empire cracked?

Either way, Dom relished the idea of watching him squirm. 

Marco broke the silence, his voice quieter now. "You know, Dom… this isn't just revenge anymore. This is something else." 

"What's that?" Dom asked, glancing at him. 

"It's fun." Marco's grin was lopsided, tinged with guilt. "God help me, it's fun." 

Dom chuckled, raising his glass. "Then let's enjoy ourselves while we still can." 

Lucky grinned, clinking his glass against theirs. "To falling empires and rising kings." 

Dom smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. Empires rose and fell, yes—but so did men.

And if Vinnie thought he could bury Dom in the past, he was about to learn just how dangerous a resurrected ghost could be. 

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In the end, laughter wasn't just a release valve—it was a weapon. Dom understood that better than most.

Humor cut through the tension, diffused fear, and reminded him why he fought. Not because he wanted to reclaim what was stolen, but because he refused to let betrayal define him. 

This wasn't just about bringing Vinnie down. It was about proving that even in death, Dom Ricci was far from finished. 

And somewhere out there, Vinnie Costa was starting to realize the same thing.