Chapter 5 - The First Strike
The seven-day clock began ticking immediately.
That night, at ten o'clock, the storm raged harder over Brooklyn.
Inside a high-end, underground gambling den owned by Frankie 'The Blade'—one of the captains who had defected to Uncle Vince—the music was loud, money was changing hands, and armed guards stood at every entrance.
Frankie sat in a back VIP room, drinking expensive bourbon with four of Vince’s hitmen.
"Dominic has gone soft," Frankie sneered, counting a stack of hundred-dollar bills. "He’s hiding in a safehouse playing house with a three-year-old brat. Vince is going to take the throne by Friday, and we’re all going to get rich."
Suddenly, the lights in the entire building went pitch black.
The loud dance music cut out, replaced by immediate shouting and panic in the main hall.
THUD. THUD. BANG.
Suppressed gunshots echoed through the dark corridors—clean, professional, surgical.
"What the hell?!" Frankie jumped up, pulling his chrome-plated 9mm pistol from his belt. "Guards! What's happening out there?!"
The heavy iron door of the VIP room was blown off its hinges with a deafening EXPLOSION.
Smoke filled the room. Before Frankie’s men could even raise their weapons, dark figures moved through the haze like ghosts.
PFT. PFT. PFT.
Vince’s four hitmen collapsed to the floor instantly, single bullet holes through their foreheads.
Frankie backed away in terror, dropping his gun, raising his hands, his back slamming against the brick wall.
Out of the smoke walked Dominic Moretti, wearing a dark tactical coat, holding a silenced pistol, his grey eyes cold as a frozen grave. Beside him stood Marco and four of his elite enforcers.
"Dominic!" Frankie shrieked, his knees shaking violently. "Please! I was forced! Vince threatened my family! I didn't want to turn against you!"
Dominic didn't raise his gun. He simply walked over to the VIP table, picked up a glass of bourbon, and looked at Frankie.
"Where is my uncle Vince?" Dominic asked quietly.
"I don't know! I swear to God I don't know!" Frankie wept. "He's moving between Romano safehouses! He never stays in one place for more than two hours!"
Dominic took a small sip of the bourbon, then set the glass down.
"Frankie," Dominic said gently. "You stood in my ballroom for ten years. You ate at my table. You took my money. And the second a three-year-old child needed her father, you called me weak and joined the man who tried to murder her mother."
"Dominic, please! Mercy!" Frankie dropped to his knees, sobbing.
Dominic looked at Marco. "Clean this place up. Send a message to every captain in New York."
Dominic turned his back and walked toward the exit.
Behind him, a single suppressed gunshot echoed through the room.
Ten minutes later, Dominic stepped into the back of his armored car. He pulled off his gloves and dialed a number on his encrypted phone.
"Elena," Dominic’s voice transformed instantly, soft and warm. "How is she?"
Back at the brownstone safehouse, Elena stood near the kitchen, watching Lily, who was sitting at the low table wearing pink pajamas, happily eating a bowl of warm oatmeal, kicking her small feet.
"She’s wonderful, Dominic," Elena smiled, tears of relief in her eyes. "She ate all her dinner, and she’s drawing a picture for you."
Dominic closed his eyes in the back of the car, letting out a long, heavy breath. The darkness of the mob world vanished from his mind, replaced entirely by the warmth of his daughter's innocence.
"Tell her I’ll be home in an hour to read her a bedtime story," Dominic said softly.
May you like
"She's waiting for her prince," Elena replied gently.
Dominic hung up the phone. He looked out the window at the rain-slicked streets of New York. The war was just beginning, but for the first time in his life, he knew exactly what he was fighting for.
