Chapter 3 - The Trap is Sprung
The corporate offices of Pierce & Associates occupied the entire top floor of a glass tower overlooking the Providence River. Roland Pierce sat behind his glass-topped desk, a fountain pen balanced between his manicured fingers, looking at a stack of federal immunity agreements.
The door to his office didn't open; it exploded off its hinges, the heavy glass shattering across the polished marble floor.
Roland jumped to his feet, his fountain pen clattering away. Before he could scream for his assistant, two of Adrian’s personal enforcers stepped through the ruins of the frame, followed immediately by Adrian himself. The mafia boss looked like a storm given human form, his long dark coat billowing behind him, his eyes entirely black with a murderous intent that required no words.
"Adrian!" Roland gasped, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture. "What is the meaning of this? This is a public office! There are cameras—"
"The cameras were looped twenty minutes ago, Roland," Adrian said, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. He walked over to the desk, grabbed the older attorney by his silk tie, and dragged him over the glass top, scattering files and laptops across the floor.
"Adrian, please! We’ve been together for thirty years! I protected your father!"
"You forged my wife's handwriting," Adrian whispered, his face inches from Roland's. He jammed the barrel of his semi-automatic pistol directly beneath the lawyer's chin, forcing his head back at a grotesque angle. "You took forty-two million dollars from Grant's Delaware trust to falsify the financial audit that put her in that storm. You gave the Moretti family the coordinates for my convoy on Whitmore Road."
Roland’s eyes bulged with terror. He could smell the gun oil and the freezing rain clinging to Adrian’s coat. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was seconds away from a bullet passing through his brain.
"It wasn't my idea!" Roland choked out, his hands clawing at Adrian’s iron grip on his tie. "Grant... Grant insisted! He said the feds were building a RICO case that would put us all away for life! He said you were getting soft because of her! You were talking about moving assets into legitimate real estate... about leaving the life! Grant couldn't let you dissolve the organization!"
"Where is Grant sending his men tonight?" Adrian pressed the barrel harder, breaking the skin beneath Roland's jaw.
"The South End!" Roland screamed, tears of panic streaming down his face. "A safe house on Harrison Avenue! Lucas has an order to clear the building and make it look like a Moretti hit! They’re going to kill her, Adrian! They’re going to kill her tonight so you have no choice but to go to war with the Morettis!"
Adrian's heart stopped for one agonizing beat. Harrison Avenue.
He threw Roland across the room like a sack of garbage. The attorney crashed into his leather sofa, weeping and clutching his throat. Adrian turned to his enforcers, his face set in a mask of absolute, lethal clarity.
"Secure the tower. Nobody leaves, nobody makes a call," Adrian ordered. He was already running toward the express elevator, his phone pressed to his ear. "Malcolm! I need the exact blueprints for 412 Harrison Avenue in Boston. And call the strike team. Tell them to bring the heavy glass-cutters and the suppression gear. If my wife has a scratch on her when I arrive, I will turn the South End into a graveyard."
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As the elevator plunged toward the parking garage, Adrian looked at his reflection in the mirrored wall. He saw the monster he had become—the man who had spent his life building a empire of blood and fear, only to find that the walls he built to protect himself had become the cage that would kill his own child.
"Hold on, Elena," he whispered into the empty car, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel of his mind. "Please, just hold on."
