Chapter 8
The private study of Raffaele Moretti was a sanctuary of dark wood, heavy leather, and absolute silence, bathed in the same cinematic, neutral daylight that flooded the rest of the estate. Raffaele walked into the room, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. The unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt exposed the elegant, dangerous tattoos creeping up his neck as he poured himself two fingers of scotch from a crystal decanter.
He didn't drink. He simply stared at the amber liquid, his mind operating at a terrifying, tactical speed.
The heavy oak doors opened, and his lead capo, Vincenzo, stepped into the room. The older, white American man wore a grim expression on his fair face.
"The guests have been processed and escorted off the property, Boss," Vincenzo reported, standing respectfully near the desk. "The estate is on full lockdown. But we have a situation."
"Speak," Raffaele commanded, his deep, raspy voice a low rumble in the quiet room.
"Before we confiscated the phones, word got out," Vincenzo said, his American accent tense. "Vanessa’s family, the Reed syndicate, they already know you took her. They know you threw her in the cellar."
Raffaele slowly lowered the glass to the desk. He leaned forward, resting his tattooed hands flat on the polished mahogany. "They moved quickly."
"Her father is furious, Raffaele," Vincenzo warned. "He views this as an unprovoked attack on his bloodline. He is demanding her immediate release, or he is threatening to blockade the southern ports and cut off our supply lines."
"He threatens... my ports," Raffaele murmured, a cold, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. "He believes... I will negotiate... with a man who raised a woman capable of torturing a three-year-old child."
"Raffaele, the Reeds have a massive standing army," Vincenzo cautioned. "If we go to war over this, the streets will run red. The Commission might step in and sanction us for breaking the marriage treaty."
"The treaty... was broken the second she laid her hands on my daughter," Raffaele stated, his voice dropping into a register of pure, concentrated ice. He stood up, his deeply masculine, intimidating presence filling the room. "The Commission can burn. The Reeds can burn."
He walked around the desk, his polished leather shoes making slow, deliberate sounds against the hardwood floor.
"Vincenzo," Raffaele said, stopping inches from his capo. "I want you to mobilize the strike teams. Arm every soldier on the payroll. We are not going to wait for the Reeds to blockade our ports. We are going to take theirs."
"A preemptive strike?" Vincenzo asked, a fierce, loyal fire igniting in his eyes.
"Total eradication," Raffaele corrected softly. "I want their warehouses raided. I want their lieutenants neutralized. By midnight tonight, I want the Reed family to understand exactly what it costs to insult the Moretti bloodline."
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"Consider it done, Boss," Vincenzo nodded sharply.
"And Vincenzo," Raffaele added, his cold, sharp eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "Prepare a vehicle. Bring the boy, Mason, up from the holding area. I am going to personally deliver him back to his grandfather... along with a message."
