Chapter 10
The cleanup crew hauled the struggling Mercers to their feet and dragged them toward the rear exit of the maternity suite. The room fell quiet, the violent chaos replaced by a heavy, impending silence. Lorenzo remained alone in the center of the bright, colorful lounge. He looked at the ruined refreshment station, the scattered blankets, and the bloodstains on the linoleum.
It was messy. He despised messes.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a sharp, vibrating buzz.
Lorenzo looked down at his hand. He was still holding Julian’s expensive smartphone. The screen illuminated, flashing a brightly colored caller ID. It was an unsaved number, but Lorenzo knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.
Silvio. Moretti’s lieutenant. Waiting in the underground parking garage for a baby that would never arrive.
Lorenzo stared at the glowing screen for a long, quiet moment. The thick, neatly styled hair fell slightly over his forehead. His jawline tightened beneath his well-groomed beard. This was the moment the shadow war became a public execution. Answering this phone meant burning the fragile truce that had held the Manhattan underworld together for five years.
Lorenzo swiped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. He didn't speak.
“Julian, you’re out of time,” a harsh, gravelly voice snapped through the speaker. “I’ve been sitting in this garage for an hour. If you don't have the package in the next two minutes, we’re coming up there, and we’re taking all three of them. Plus your wife.”
Lorenzo took a slow, deep breath, maintaining his low, dangerously measured volume.
“Julian is no longer available,” Lorenzo said softly, the cold chill of his voice cutting through the digital connection.
There was a sudden, dead silence on the other end of the line. The man in the garage recognized the voice instantly.
“Ravelli,” Silvio breathed, a note of genuine panic entering his tone.
“Tell Don Moretti,” Lorenzo whispered, his eyes narrowing into predatory slits, “that I am coming downstairs. And tell him that the price for demanding my blood is going to be paid in his.”
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Lorenzo pressed the button to end the call. He dropped Julian’s phone onto the floor and crushed the glass screen beneath his polished leather shoe.
He unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, cracked his neck, and walked slowly toward the exit. The bright, cheerful sunlight of the maternity ward faded behind him as he stepped into the dark, shadowed corridor, heading down to the garage to start a war.
