Chapter 10
The estate moved with the terrifying, oiled precision of a military operation. Within twenty minutes, Bianca and her twelve-year-old daughter, Ava, were stripped of their expensive jewelry, formal dresses, and designer luggage. Dressed in plain, ill-fitting tracksuits provided by the staff, they were shoved roughly into the back of an armored black SUV. Bianca wept hysterically, begging the silent guards for mercy, while Ava sat in stunned, terrified silence, the reality of her mother's actions finally crashing down upon her entitled worldview.
Rocco stood on the front steps of the estate, the bright, cinematic exterior lights illuminating the driveway. He watched the heavy iron gates swing open, allowing the convoy of three black SUVs to roar out into the night, carrying the traitors back to the rival family that had sent them.
"The message has been sent, Mr. Bellandi," his chief of security said, standing respectfully a few paces behind him. "The Morettis will have her deposited at their doorstep within the hour."
"Deploy the strike teams to the perimeter of their territory," Rocco commanded, his deep American accent cutting through the cool night air. The tailored dark three-piece suit he wore seemed to blend with the shadows of the estate. "I want eyes on every street corner, every warehouse, and every safe house they own. When they realize their spy has been compromised, they will panic. They will try to move their assets."
"And when they move?" the chief asked, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip.
"We burn them to the ground," Rocco stated, his cold, penetrating eyes reflecting the bright security lights. "No survivors. No negotiations. They tried to poison my home. I will salt their earth."
"Understood, Boss."
The chief hurried away to coordinate the massive mobilization of the Bellandi forces. Rocco remained on the steps for a long moment, the quiet night air a stark contrast to the apocalyptic violence he had just set into motion. He had severed the rot from his life, but the war for absolute supremacy in the city was only just beginning.
He turned and walked back inside the sprawling, brightly lit mansion. The heavy oak doors closed behind him, sealing the fortress.
He walked through the quiet, opulent corridors, bypassing his study and the situation room where his capos were gathering. His polished leather shoes carried him directly back up the sweeping staircase, back to the secure residential wing.
Rocco quietly opened the door to Noah’s bedroom. The room was softly lit, peaceful, and perfectly still. The three-year-old boy was fast asleep in the center of the large bed, his breathing deep and even, completely unaware that his father had just mobilized an army to avenge his tears.
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Rocco walked over to the bed and sat down gently in the chair beside it. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, the artistic tattoos on his fingers stark in the dim light. The veteran Mafia boss, a man feared by thousands, simply sat in the quiet room, watching his son breathe.
The monsters had been banished from the hallway, but Rocco knew there were always more waiting in the dark. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp and unblinking, ready for whatever came next. The war was coming, but as long as he drew breath, the light in this room would never go out.
