Chapter 8
Within forty-five minutes, the garden party had been entirely dismantled. The white American guests, understanding the sudden and violent shift in the atmosphere, had quietly and hastily evacuated the premises. The bright, cinematic terrace was now empty, save for the armed capos patrolling the perimeter.
Raffaele sat behind his heavy desk in the study, the glass of whiskey untouched in front of him. The door opened, and his underboss, a towering, grizzled man named Vincent, stepped into the room.
"The grounds are secure, Boss," Vincent reported, closing the door behind him. "Miss Hale and her daughter were dropped outside the main gates. A black town car picked them up three minutes later."
"A town car," Raffaele repeated slowly. "Who was driving?"
"It had Illinois plates," Vincent said, his expression grim. "Registered to a shell company owned by the Greco family out of Chicago."
Raffaele leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his tattooed fingers. The loose strands of wavy hair fell perfectly across his forehead. The pieces of the puzzle were locking together with sickening clarity. Victoria wasn't just a social climber looking for a wealthy husband. She was a Trojan horse.
"The Grecos," Raffaele murmured, his voice deadly quiet. "They have been trying to secure a foothold in our port operations for three years. I denied them."
"And so they sent Victoria to secure it through marriage," Vincent concluded, stepping closer to the desk. "We pulled her phone records, Boss. The guys in cyber breached her cloud account while she was being escorted out. She’s been forwarding encrypted emails to her brother in Chicago for months. Blueprints of the estate, security shift rotations, and banking routing numbers."
Raffaele’s sharp, intimidating eyes darkened into pitch-black voids. The betrayal was not of the heart—he had never loved Victoria, choosing her merely because a mother figure had seemed appropriate for Noah. The betrayal was of his territory.
"She was gathering intel," Raffaele said softly. "She intended to wait until we were married, until she had legal access to the inner estate accounts, and then she was going to open the gates for the Grecos from the inside."
"What do you want us to do, Raffaele?" Vincent asked, resting his hand on the weapon concealed inside his suit jacket. "The Grecos have crossed a massive line. If we don't respond, they'll think we're weak. They might try a direct hit next."
Raffaele slowly stood up from his desk. He picked up the glass of whiskey, walked over to the large window, and stared out at the bright, sunlit gardens where he had just saved his son.
"We do not react out of anger, Vincent," Raffaele whispered, taking a slow sip of the burning liquid. "We respond with absolute, terrifying precision. How many men does Victoria’s brother have in this city?"
"We track about a dozen Greco soldiers operating out of a warehouse in the meatpacking district," Vincent replied. "They've been laying low, waiting for the wedding."
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"The wedding is canceled," Raffaele stated coldly. He turned back to face his underboss, the romantic, movie-star facade completely melting away to reveal the apex predator beneath. "Send three tactical teams to that warehouse. Do not leave a single breathing soul inside. Burn the building to the foundation."
Vincent nodded slowly, a dark smile touching his lips. "And Victoria?"
