Chapter 9
The confession hung in the bright, cinematic light of the salon like a toxic cloud. Adrian had not just sold his wife to cover a debt; he had conspired with the Bratva to orchestrate a coup against the Caradonna family. He had traded Sofia’s safety for the promise of a throne he was too weak to earn himself.
Massimo slowly released Adrian’s lapels, letting the broken man drop back onto the scattered plush blankets and wicker diaper caddies. He stood up to his full height, smoothing his dark three-piece suit. He looked at the blood on his hands, then pulled a crisp white linen handkerchief from his pocket to wipe them clean.
"A coup," Massimo murmured, addressing his capos. "He conspired with the Russians to overthrow this family. And he used my pregnant daughter as the down payment."
"Boss," the lead capo said, his voice thick with murderous intent, racking the slide of his concealed weapon. "Give the word. We'll end them both right now."
"No," Massimo commanded, raising a single, authoritative hand. "Death is too quick a release for treason of this magnitude. Bind them. Take them to the warehouse in the meatpacking district. Hang them by their wrists. They will wait for me there."
"You can't do this!" Evelyn shrieked, thrashing wildly as the bodyguards dragged her out from beneath the favor-shelf display. "I am a citizen! You can't just make us disappear! The police will come looking for us!"
"The police work for me," Massimo reminded her coldly. "And by tomorrow morning, you will simply be two more tragic victims of a Russian mob hit."
The bodyguards dragged the screaming, sobbing mother and her bleeding, defeated son out of the baby-shower salon. The heavy doors closed behind them, cutting off their cries.
Massimo stood alone in the center of the ruined room. The bright video colors of the pastel fabric bunting and paper gift bags were a stark, sickening contrast to the reality of his world. He had built his empire to protect his family, to insulate them from the violence of the streets, but the violence had been sleeping in the bed next to his daughter.
He pulled his encrypted smartphone from his pocket and dialed a secure number.
"Get me the consigliere," Massimo ordered as the line connected.
"He is on the line, Boss," a voice replied instantly.
"We are going to war," Massimo stated, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that promised absolute annihilation. "Ivan Volkov has crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. Mobilize every soldier, every hitman, every associate on our payroll. I want the Russian territories locked down. No one gets in, no one gets out."
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"A full-scale war will draw the feds, Massimo," the consigliere warned cautiously.
"I do not care if it draws the National Guard," Massimo replied, his eyes narrowing into cold, lethal slits. "They put their hands on my daughter. I want Ivan Volkov brought to me alive. And I want the rest of his syndicate burned to the ground. Tonight."
