Chapter 7
The heavy steel doors of the warehouse closed with a resounding clang, leaving Vittorio alone with the echoes of his sister's final, desperate screams. He did not feel triumph. He did not feel joy. He felt only the cold, mechanical necessity of a surgeon excising a rotting tumor to save the body.
He walked out into the cool Chicago night. The city skyline glowed in the distance, a glittering monument to power and corruption. His armored SUV was waiting, the engine purring softly.
"Take me home," Vittorio told the driver.
The ride was silent. Vittorio stared out the tinted window, his mind replaying the image of Nico on the floor, the broken wooden airplane, the tears on his son's rosy cheeks. It was a vulnerability he could never afford to show to the world, but one that consumed his every waking thought.
When he arrived at his private estate, the house was quiet. The soft, elegant warmth of the interior lighting welcomed him. He walked up the grand staircase, his footsteps muted by the thick, luxurious carpet.
He gently opened the door to Nico’s bedroom. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a nightlight. Nico was fast asleep in his bed, his small chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm.
On the nightstand, carefully glued back together and resting on a velvet cloth, was the wooden airplane.
Vittorio walked to the side of the bed. He reached out with a large, heavily tattooed hand and gently brushed a lock of hair from Nico’s forehead. The boy stirred slightly, turning his face into the warmth of his father’s touch.
"I will burn the whole world down before I let them hurt you again," Vittorio whispered into the quiet room.
He sat in the armchair by the window, watching his son sleep. He knew that the execution of his sister and brother-in-law would send shockwaves through the criminal underworld. The Russians would be angry. The internal politics of the Greco family would be volatile. He had cut out the infection, but the wound would bleed.
He needed to solidify his power. He needed to ensure that no one ever questioned his authority again.
As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and golds, Vittorio made a decision. He would not just defend his territory; he would expand it. He would crush the Russian pipeline that Owen had tried to open, and he would take their assets for himself.
He pulled his encrypted phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
"Marcus," Vittorio said when his security chief answered.
May you like
"Yes, Boss."
"Gather the capos. All of them. We meet at noon at the downtown high-rise," Vittorio ordered, his voice cold and sharp. "Tell them to prepare for war. The Russians are moving into our port, and we are going to sink them."
