Chapter 5 - The War Room
At 2:15 AM, Rafael Conti’s private phone rang with a shrill, piercing tone that made Marcus drop his pen across his ledger.
Rafael answered on the first ring. His expression went from cold professionalism to absolute, petrifying fury within three seconds.
"Say that again," Rafael whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a tone so terrifying that Marcus instinctively took two steps back.
"They breached the rear perimeter, Mr. Conti," the lead guard on site stammered, his voice shaking over the radio. "The girl... she's gone. They left a message on the kitchen table."
Rafael hung up without a word. He stood up so fast his leather chair overturned against the mahogany wall.
"Get the cars," Rafael commanded, his eyes burning like hot coals. "Mobilize every unit in Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan. If Moretti so much as scratches that child, burn his entire empire to ash."
Within twenty minutes, Rafael stood in the brightly lit kitchen of the Riverdale brownstone. Marina was sitting at the table, sobbing hysterically into her hands while medics tried to calm her down.
On the center of the wooden table sat a small, blood-stained silver charm—the rabbit charm from Lily’s bracelet—along with a neatly written note on cheap cardstock:
If you want the girl back, Conti, you sign over the North Pier shipping rights by noon tomorrow. Come alone, or she swims with the fishes.
Rafael picked up the silver rabbit charm. He held it in his palm, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked violently in his cheek.
"Marcus," Rafael said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
May you like
"Yes, Mr. Conti?"
"Find Moretti’s primary warehouse on the East River. Not his club. Not his home. The old sugar refinery." Rafael slid his jacket on, pulling a suppressed automatic pistol from his shoulder holster. "We're going to have a conversation."
