Chapter 10
The sun had begun to set, casting long, dramatic shadows across the manicured lawns of the estate. The party guests had been quietly dismissed hours ago, and the bright, cinematic atmosphere of the afternoon had faded into a cool, quiet evening.
Domenico walked softly through the upper halls of the east wing. He opened the heavy wooden door to the playroom. The room was bathed in the soft, warm light of a bedside lamp. Eli was fast asleep on a plush sofa, his small hands securely wrapped around his leather football. Clara, the nanny, was sitting nearby, reading a book.
She stood up quickly as Domenico entered. "He just fell asleep, Mr. Ravello. He was very brave."
"Thank you, Clara. You may go," Domenico whispered, his deep, raspy voice infinitely gentle.
The nanny slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Domenico walked over to the sofa and knelt beside it, carefully avoiding waking the child. He reached out, his heavily tattooed hand gently brushing the soft, fair hair from his son's forehead. The anger that had fueled his ruthless purge of the family completely vanished, leaving only a profound, unconditional love.
"No one will ever hurt you, Eli," Domenico whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the boy's warm cheek. "I will burn the world down before I let them touch you."
A soft, urgent knock sounded at the playroom door.
Domenico sighed, his posture stiffening as the Mafia boss reluctantly returned to the surface. He stood up, walked to the door, and opened it just a fraction, stepping out into the hallway to avoid waking his son.
Marcus, his senior capo, was standing in the corridor. The man’s fair skin was pale, and his expression was deadly serious.
"Is it done?" Domenico asked, his voice low and commanding.
"Conrad has been stripped and dropped at the border, Boss," Marcus confirmed quietly. "Miriam is currently packing her bags under armed guard. The estate is fully secure."
"And the ports?"
"We locked down port four. The shipment Conrad approved was intercepted," Marcus said, swallowing hard. "But we have a major problem, Boss."
Domenico’s sharp, intimidating eyes narrowed. "Speak."
"We opened the containers the Rossis were trying to smuggle through," Marcus explained, his American accent tight with tension. "It wasn't weapons, Domenico. It wasn't drugs."
"What was it?" Domenico demanded, a cold sense of dread beginning to coil in his chest.
"It was cash. Tens of millions in untraceable bills," Marcus whispered, leaning in closer. "And detailed architectural blueprints of this exact estate. They weren't using our ports to move contraband, Boss. They were moving resources to stage a siege. The Rossis are already inside the city, and they are preparing to hit us."
Domenico remained perfectly still. The slow, measured rhythm of his breathing did not change, but his eyes darkened into pitch-black voids. The betrayal by his cousin had merely been the opening move in a much larger, far more devastating game.
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"Double the perimeter guard," Domenico said, his voice dropping into a chilling, absolute calm that promised unspeakable violence. "And empty the armory."
The war hadn't been prevented. It had only just begun.
