Chapter 10
The heavy, suppressed thwack of the pistol echoed dully across the stone patio. Nolan’s body jerked backward, collapsing into the melted ice and crushed fruit, and did not move again.
Hattie let out a blood-curdling scream, scrambling backward until her back hit the solid stone of the banquet table. She covered her head, sobbing hysterically, waiting for the second shot.
Salvatore lowered the weapon, his fair, rosy skin entirely devoid of emotion. He did not fire again. He looked at his cousin with absolute disgust, deciding that death was too merciful for what she had done to his mother.
The garden doors unlocked, and Anthony Russo stepped back onto the patio, his eyes flicking to Nolan’s body before returning to his boss. The senior capo’s expression remained stoic, ready for orders.
"Anthony," Salvatore said, his voice returning to its low, controlled volume, the deadly pauses emphasizing his commands. "Take Hattie. Put her in the cellar beneath the wine racks. No food. No water. Leave her in the dark until I return."
"No! Please, Salvatore, don't leave me down there!" Hattie screamed as two burly bodyguards dragged her up by her arms, her diamond jewelry flashing uselessly in the sun. "I am blood! I am blood!"
"You are nothing," Salvatore said, turning his back on her as she was dragged kicking and screaming through the heavy doors.
Salvatore walked over to his mother, who was sitting quietly on a cushioned garden seat, clutching her family ring. He knelt before Adelaide once more, tucking the pistol away.
"Mother," Salvatore said softly. "I am going to get her."
Adelaide nodded slowly, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and profound pride. "Bring her home, my son. Burn them all to ash, and bring her home."
Salvatore stood up, his tall, masculine frame casting a long shadow across the ruined banquet tables. He looked out over the forty guests, who were staring at him in terrified awe. He didn't need to threaten them; the message had been delivered with absolute clarity.
"Anthony," Salvatore called out, unbuttoning his suit jacket and rolling his shoulders. "Mobilize the men. Every soldier, every capo. Empty the armory."
"Where are we going, Boss?" Anthony asked, already pulling a secure phone from his tailored three-piece suit.
May you like
Salvatore looked up at the bright, cinematic summer sky, his cold, sharp eyes narrowing as the loose strands of hair blew across his forehead. The romantic charm was gone, replaced entirely by the ruthless Mafia boss who was about to set the city on fire.
"We are going to Brooklyn," Salvatore said, his voice low and dangerous. "We are going to war."
