Chapter 4 - The Brooklyn Perimeter
The brownstone in Brooklyn Heights overlooked the East River, its brick facade looking dark and secretive against the pre-dawn sky. I stood across the street, hidden within the shadow of a brick archway, a pair of tactical binoculars pressed to my eyes.
Marco’s information had been flawless. Two black sedans with New Jersey plates were parked at the corner—Silvio Marcone’s personal security team. Silvio had been looking for an excuse to claw back the shipping agreements since his sister Beatrice died two years ago. If he found out that the real Valenti heir was alive and protected by the Vance family, he would use her as a political lever to split our commission seats.
"Dominic," Marco whispered through the earpiece. "We have six men in position along the alleyway. We can clear the Marcone cars in ninety seconds, but it’s going to make noise."
"No noise," I ordered. "Julian Vance has federal eyes on this house. If we start a shootout on a residential street in Brooklyn, the FBI will have us in custody before we can clear the bridge. I'm going in alone."
"Through the front door? Silvio’s men will see you."
"Then I'll use the roof," I said, pulling my leather gloves tight.
Ten minutes later, I dropped silently onto the fire escape at the back of the brownstone. The window on the third floor was unlocked—a deliberate invitation, or a security oversight by a legal family that didn't understand the realities of a New York winter. I slipped through the frame, my feet landing soundlessly on the hardwood floor.
The room was dark, smelling faintly of lavender and baby powder. A small nightlight shaped like a star glowed in the corner, illuminating a child’s bed. Gianna was asleep, her midnight curls scattered across a white pillow, her small hand clutching a stuffed toy.
I stood there, frozen, my breath catching in my throat. I had killed men, I had run empires, but looking at this sleeping child made my knees weak. She was my blood. She was the piece of myself that I thought had been buried five years ago.
"I told you to stay away, Dominic."
The voice came from the doorway. Elena stood there, wearing a long dark robe, her arms crossed over her chest. In her right hand, she held a small, professional-grade automatic pistol. Her grip was steady. She didn't look like a victim anymore; she looked like a mother guarding her nest.
"She looks like you when you sleep," I said softly, not moving an inch, keeping my hands visible. "You always used to turn your head toward the window."
"Don't do that," Elena said, her voice trembling slightly despite her firm grip on the weapon. "Don't pretend you have a right to memories, Dominic. You chose the family legacy. You chose the business."
"I was lied to, Elena," I said, stepping out of the nursery into the hallway, forcing her to follow me so we wouldn't wake the girl. "My father... he bought Dr. Rossi. He manufactured the records. He paid for the diagnosis because he wanted the Marcone alliance. I found out tonight. I've put him under house arrest in Westchester. His time is over."
Elena let out a short, bitter laugh that cut deeper than any blade. "Does that make you feel better? Finding a villain to blame? It doesn't change the fact that when the world got dark, you looked at me and saw an inconvenience instead of a wife. You didn't fight for me, Dominic. You didn't even ask for a second opinion. You just handed me to your lawyers and went to dinner with the Marcones."
The truth of her words was an acid that burned through my pride. She was right. I had been raised in a world where the Don's word was law, where logic and survival superseded emotion. I had allowed my father to dictate my morality because it was easier than questioning the structure that gave me power.
"I am sorry," I said, the words feeling small, pathetic in the narrow hallway. "I know it means nothing now. But I will spend the rest of my life making it right. Silvio Marcone has men outside this house right now, Elena. They know you're here. They know about Gianna."
Elena lowered the gun slightly, her eyes narrowing. "We know about Silvio. Julian is already arranging protection. By noon tomorrow, this house will be a federal sanctuary."
May you like
"Federal sanctuary doesn't stop a sniper on a roof, Elena," I said, stepping closer, until I could smell the lavender on her skin. "The Marcones don't care about federal judges. They care about territory. Let me protect her. Let me protect you."
"We don't need your protection, Don Valenti," a new voice said from the stairs. Julian Vance walked up, wearing a crisp shirt and trousers, his expression completely unfazed by my presence. "We need your absence. The longer you stay here, the more target practice Silvio gets. Leave, Dominic. Before I have my security details show you how we handle intruders in Brooklyn."
