Chapter 17
The relative peace of the hospital suite was a stark contrast to the storm brewing across the city. By midnight, the news of the Mercer family's sudden disappearance and the accompanying financial scandal dominated the news cycles. Their corporate empire was collapsing, their assets frozen, exactly as Lorenzo had promised.
But in the dark, smoky backrooms of the Moretti syndicate, panic was spreading like a virus.
Don Moretti, a frail, ruthless man in his seventies, slammed his fist onto his mahogany desk. "What do you mean, they disappeared? Julian promised me the child tonight!"
"Silvio barely made it back alive, Don Moretti," his underboss reported, his voice trembling. "Ravelli ambushed him in the garage. He destroyed the SUV and sent Silvio back with a message."
"A message?" Moretti rasped, his sunken eyes narrowing.
"He said the Mercer debt is now his," the underboss swallowed hard. "And he promised to drown our family crest in the East River by sunset tomorrow."
Moretti coughed violently, a sickly, wet sound. He had vastly underestimated Lorenzo’s intelligence and ruthlessness. He had assumed the younger Boss was distracted by his daughter's pregnancy, an easy target for a surgical strike.
"He’s bluffing," Moretti wheezed, wiping his mouth with a silk handkerchief. "He doesn't have the numbers to wage an open war against us. We outgun him three to one."
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"With respect, Don," the underboss hesitated. "Ravelli doesn't fight open wars. He fights in the shadows. And our men at the docks are reporting strange movements. The Ravelli shipping containers... they aren't loading legitimate cargo tonight."
Moretti’s frail face turned entirely pale. He realized, too late, that Lorenzo wasn't planning a shootout in the streets; he was orchestrating an absolute, devastating siege on the Moretti infrastructure.
