Chapter 11
The descent to the underground parking garage was a study in absolute, terrifying control. Lorenzo Ravelli stood alone in the descending elevator, his dark eyes fixed on the stainless steel doors. The bright, cheerful colors of the maternity suite above were a distant memory, replaced by the sterile, fluorescent hum of the hospital’s subterranean levels. He rolled his broad shoulders beneath his tailored suit, feeling the familiar, cold adrenaline pumping through his veins.
When the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, Lorenzo stepped out into the cavernous concrete structure. The air was heavy with the smell of exhaust and damp pavement. It was quiet, save for the distant rumble of city traffic above.
Fifty yards away, parked entirely in the shadows near the freight loading dock, sat a massive, black SUV with heavily tinted windows.
Lorenzo did not draw a weapon. He didn't sneak between the parked cars. He walked directly down the center aisle, his polished leather shoes echoing ominously against the concrete. He was projecting absolute dominance, forcing the men inside the vehicle to watch his inevitable, deliberate approach.
Inside the SUV, Silvio, a hardened enforcer with a scarred face, watched the Mafia Boss approach through the windshield. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
"He's alone," the man in the passenger seat whispered, chambering a round in his assault rifle. "He actually came down alone. Should I drop him?"
"Don't be an idiot," Silvio hissed, pulling out his encrypted radio. "If Lorenzo Ravelli is walking in the open, it means we're already dead."
Silvio pressed the transmit button. "Don Moretti, the package is compromised. Ravelli is here. Do we engage?"
A burst of static answered, followed by a frantic, breathless voice. "Silvio, get out of there! Abort the mission! Ravelli's men just hit the harbor shipments! We're losing the East Side!"
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The radio went dead.
Silvio looked back at the approaching figure. Lorenzo was twenty yards away, his handsome, bearded face set in stone. He wasn't walking to negotiate; he was walking to execute.
