Chapter 6 - THE ATTACK
The drive back to the Long Island estate was suffocatingly silent, heavy with the stench of cordite and the cold realization that the Castellano family was breached. Aleandro sat in the back of the reinforced SUV, Annie tucked securely into his side, her face buried in his chest. She hadn't spoken since the garden. Ruth sat across from them, her face ashen, an oxygen mask pressed to her face to combat the panic that had exacerbated her failing lungs.
"How did they know?" Aleandro's voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the hum of the engine like a straight razor. He wasn't asking a question; he was diagnosing a fatal disease within his organization.
Marco, riding shotgun, turned slightly. "The botanical garden was supposed to be a ghost trip. No digital footprint, no advance scouting. Only the inner circle knew the location."
"Which means," Aleandro stated, his eyes locked on the passing blurred trees, "someone in my house sold my daughter to Victor Moretti."
The implication hung in the air, toxic and heavy. The syndicate was a family built on blood oaths and omertà, but money and fear could rot the strongest loyalties. By the time the convoy passed through the heavy steel gates of the compound, the estate had been transformed from a home back into a war zone. Floodlights swept the perimeter, snipers were positioned on the roof, and dozens of heavily armed soldiers patrolled the grounds with assault rifles.
Aleandro carried Annie inside, handing her carefully to Ruth. "Take her to the panic room in the sub-basement. Do not open the door for anyone except me or Marco. Do you understand, Ruth?"
Ruth gripped his arm, her eyes wide with a terrifying clarity. "Kill the monster, Aleandro. Do not let him near her."
Aleandro nodded, a silent vow passing between them. He watched the steel door of the safe room hiss shut, locking his world away in a titanium vault. Then, he turned around, the father vanishing, leaving only the Don.
He strode into his command center, a room lined with monitors displaying every angle of the estate and city maps. His top five capos were waiting, men with hard faces and scarred knuckles. They stood when he entered, sensing the shift in the air. The hesitation that had plagued Aleandro for the past month was eradicated. He was a force of nature unchained.
"There is a rat in this room," Aleandro said, not raising his voice. The quietness of it was terrifying. He walked slowly around the heavy oak table. "Victor Moretti knew exactly where I was today. He knew my security detail, and he knew my daughter was with me."
The capos exchanged nervous glances. Denials began to bubble up, but Aleandro raised a hand, silencing them instantly.
"I don't have time for trials or interrogations," Aleandro continued, stopping behind a capo named Sal, a man who oversaw the Castellano's port operations. "Sal. Your brother-in-law runs a gambling ring in Queens, territory Moretti has been pressuring. Last week, your brother-in-law's debts magically vanished."
Sal turned pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "Boss, I swear on my mother's grave, I didn't say a word! Victor squeezed him, but I didn't—"
Aleandro drew his weapon and fired a single round into the back of Sal's knee. Sal collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony. The other capos flinched but didn't move a muscle.
"You talked, Sal. You traded my daughter's life to pay off a gambling debt." Aleandro looked down at the writhing man with absolute disgust. "Marco, take him to the basement. Find out exactly what Moretti's operational plans are. When you have it, end him."
Aleandro turned to the remaining capos, his eyes burning with a dark, hellish fire. "Victor Moretti broke the oldest rule. He went after family. He went after a child. Tonight, we do not just hit his businesses. We do not just hit his soldiers. We tear his family out by the root. I want his warehouses burned. I want his lieutenants in body bags. And I want Victor Moretti brought to me alive."
The room erupted into furious activity. Phones were dialed, weapons were distributed, and the dogs of war were let off their leashes.
For the next six hours, New York City bled. Aleandro's forces swept through the underworld like a hurricane of lead and fire. Moretti's illegal casinos in Queens were raided and torched. His supply lines were ambushed, his trucks pushed into the East River. The Castellano hit squads moved with brutal efficiency, leaving no survivors, executing a coordinated, merciless strike that would be whispered about in the criminal underworld for decades.
Aleandro didn't stay in the compound. He suited up in tactical body armor, taking an assault rifle from the armory. He wasn't going to sit behind a desk while his men fought. He was going to lead the charge. He was going to look Victor Moretti in the eye and show him what happened when you threatened a Castellano.
"Boss, we have Victor's location," Marco said, entering the armory, wiping blood from his knuckles. "He's fortified in his meatpacking plant in the Bronx. He's got fifty men heavily armed, waiting for a siege."
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Aleandro racked the bolt of his rifle, the mechanical clack echoing off the concrete walls. "Then we give them a siege they will never forget. Let's go."
He stepped out into the night, the rain beginning to fall again, washing the blood from the streets, but doing nothing to cool the fire raging in his soul. He was a father going to war, and heaven help anyone standing in his way.
