Chapter 10
The sun began to set over the sprawling Caradonna estate, casting long, elegant shadows across the manicured lawns. The bright, vivid colors of the day slowly transitioned into the warm, rich hues of twilight. The estate was locked down tight, heavily armed guards patrolling the perimeter with silent, professional efficiency.
Vincent stood on the balcony of his private study, looking out over the grounds. The air was cool and crisp. He held a glass of amber bourbon, the ice clinking softly as he took a slow sip.
Inside the study, Robert Parker stood by the large mahogany desk, reviewing a stack of freshly printed intelligence reports.
"The Reynolds' assets have been completely seized, Don Vincent," Robert reported, adjusting his glasses. "Their bank accounts are frozen, their properties are under our control. Patricia has been relocated to a secure facility in upstate New York. She will not be communicating with anyone."
"And Michael?" Vincent asked, not turning away from the view.
"The boys at the docks are handling him," Robert said smoothly. "He will provide no further complications."
Vincent nodded slowly. He took another sip of his bourbon. The immediate threat inside his house had been neutralized. The garbage had been taken out.
But the war had just begun.
"What about Chicago?" Vincent asked, turning to face his consigliere. His cold, intimidating eyes reflected the fading sunlight.
"The Sterlings will know by tomorrow that their play failed," Robert stated grimly. "When Michael doesn't deliver the port codes, they will assume he has been compromised. They will not take this quietly, Vincent. They have been mobilizing their enforcers for weeks under the guise of union disputes. They are preparing to move on our territory."
Vincent walked back into the study, setting his glass down on the desk. He leaned over the wood, his broad shoulders casting a large shadow across the room. He looked at the family signet ring on his finger, a symbol of power, loyalty, and blood that had been defended for generations.
"They wanted to use my grandson to break me," Vincent murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "They thought I would abandon my own blood over a piece of paper. They thought I was weak."
"They miscalculated," Robert agreed softly.
"Yes, they did," Vincent said. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his handsome, angular face. It was not a smile of joy, but of a predator anticipating the hunt.
"Robert," Vincent commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Call the capos. All of them. I want a full council meeting at midnight. Tell them to arm their crews and lock down their territories. We are going to war."
Robert nodded respectfully. "I will make the calls immediately, Don Vincent."
As Robert left the room to execute the orders, Vincent walked back to the balcony. He looked out into the gathering darkness, the soft, elegant warmth of the estate lighting contrasting with the violent storm brewing on the horizon.
They had brought garbage into his home. They had threatened his daughter. They had terrified his three-year-old grandson.
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Vincent Caradonna buttoned his suit jacket, stepping back into the shadows of his study. Chicago wanted the ports. Chicago wanted his empire.
Let them come, Vincent thought. He would drown them all in the very waters they sought to control.
