Chapter 10
The private airstrip at Teterboro was bathed in the harsh, artificial glare of high-intensity halogen floodlights, casting long, sharp shadows across the tarmac. The colors here were stark—the jet-black asphalt, the brilliant white metal of the private planes, and the stark red safety lines painted on the ground. There was no yellow tint in the crisp night air, only the freezing, cinematic clarity of impending violence.
Dominic Caradonna stood deep inside the cavernous expanse of Hangar 4. He was dressed in his tailored dark suit, his unbuttoned white shirt revealing the top edges of his refined chest tattoos. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, his posture radiating a calm, deeply masculine authority.
To his left, two of his heaviest enforcers stood guard over Valeria and Lucian Knox. The siblings were bound tightly to metal folding chairs, thick duct tape sealing their mouths shut. Their fair, rosy skin was pale and slick with terrified sweat. They were forced to watch the open hangar doors, waiting for the arrival of their doom.
A sleek, black SUV rolled slowly onto the tarmac, its headlights cutting through the night. It came to a smooth halt just outside the hangar entrance.
Four heavily armed men stepped out, flanking a fifth figure who walked with the arrogant swagger of a man who believed he was untouchable. Luca Valenti was a sharply dressed capo, his American accent already barking orders to his men as he strode into the hangar, expecting to find Lucian with a keycard.
Instead, Luca stopped dead in his tracks.
He saw the bound siblings. He saw the ring of heavily armed Caradonna bodyguards stepping out from behind the private jets, their assault rifles raised and leveled directly at the Valenti crew.
And then, standing in the center of the trap, illuminated by the bright overhead hangar lights, Luca saw the movie-star handsome face of the man he had tried to betray.
"Hello... Luca," Dominic said.
His voice was incredibly low, a slow, measured cadence that echoed across the concrete floor. He did not raise his volume, but the absolute, lethal danger in his tone made the rival capo’s blood run cold.
Luca’s men instantly raised their weapons, creating a Mexican standoff that crackled with explosive tension.
"Dominic," Luca sneered, trying to mask his panic with bravado. "You think you can just ambush me? My men are already mobilizing at the docks! If I don't check in, they burn Pier 42 to the ground!"
Dominic took a slow, deliberate step forward, his polished leather shoes clicking against the concrete. The loose strands of his dark, wavy hair shifted in the cold hangar draft. His cold, intimidating eyes locked onto Luca’s.
"Your men," Dominic murmured, the pauses between his words stretching like tightening wire, "are currently bleeding out... on the shipping containers. My mother... sends her regards."
Luca’s face went completely white. The realization that he had been outmaneuvered, that his entire assault force had been wiped out while he was lured to an empty hangar, broke his arrogant posture completely.
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"You stepped... into my city," Dominic continued, slowly raising his heavily tattooed right hand, his fingers curling into a fist as the final command hung in the air. "Now... you will learn... why it belongs to me."
Dominic’s cold, sharp eyes burned with absolute certainty, the grand finale of a war that had only just begun.
