Chapter 8
The bright, cinematic light of the breakfast room felt stark and sterile as Vittorio paced the floor. He pressed the phone to his ear, waiting for the secure connection to establish.
"Elias," Vittorio said as his underboss answered the line.
"Boss," Elias’s voice was crisp and alert, his American accent sharp. "We heard there was a disturbance at the main house. Are you secure?"
"The estate is secure," Vittorio replied, his voice dropping into a low, commanding cadence. "But the alliance with the Hale family is officially terminated. Bianca and Marcus are currently residing in my basement holding cells."
A heavy, stunned silence hung on the line for a fraction of a second. "Boss... breaking the engagement is one thing, but holding a senior capo and the Don's daughter hostage? The Commission will demand a tribunal."
"There will be no tribunal," Vittorio stated, his cold eyes surveying the ruined map rack. "They tortured my daughter. They starved her and forced her to eat from a dog bowl while I was in council meetings."
"Jesus Christ," Elias breathed, the shock evident in his voice. "I'll assemble the men."
"Listen to me carefully," Vittorio ordered, his deeply masculine voice leaving no room for debate. "The Hale family will not wait for a tribunal once they realize Marcus has missed his check-in. They will assume we are making a hostile play for the southern ports. They will mobilize their soldiers tonight."
"We will fortify the borders," Elias promised.
"No," Vittorio corrected, a terrifying, dark smile touching his lips. "We do not play defense. If they want a war, we will give them a massacre. Gather every strike team we have. Empty the northern armories. I want our men positioned outside every Hale-owned business, warehouse, and safe house in the city."
"A coordinated, simultaneous strike?" Elias asked, awe and adrenaline mixing in his tone.
"At exactly midnight," Vittorio confirmed. "We burn their infrastructure to the ground. Leave no survivors. By the time the sun rises, I want the Hale family erased from the map."
"Understood, Mr. Romano. It will be done."
Vittorio ended the call. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and walked slowly out of the ruined breakfast room. He ignored the shattered porcelain and the overturned furniture. He had a city to conquer, but first, he had to extract the final pieces of information from the traitors in his basement.
He descended the concrete stairs into the subterranean levels of the estate. The bright, cinematic lighting faded into harsh, unforgiving fluorescent bulbs. He opened the heavy steel door to the primary holding cell.
Marcus was zip-tied to a heavy metal chair, groaning as he regained consciousness. His jaw was hideously swollen and bruised from Vittorio’s counterpunch. In the corner, Bianca was tied to a similar chair, weeping hysterically, her designer morning outfit ruined.
"Vittorio, please!" Bianca shrieked the moment he entered. "My father will give you millions! Just let us go!"
Vittorio walked slowly into the center of the room. He removed his tailored suit jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on a small metal table. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt, exposing the thick, corded muscles of his forearms and the sharp, artistic tattoos that marked his skin.
"Your father," Vittorio whispered, his piercing eyes locking onto Marcus, "is a dead man walking. And before this night is over, you are going to tell me exactly where he keeps his offshore ledgers."
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Marcus spat blood onto the concrete floor. "Go to hell, Romano. You don't have the stomach for a full-scale war."
Vittorio cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing loudly in the damp room. "You are about to find out exactly what my stomach can handle."
