Chapter 8 - THE RESURGENCE OF THE OLD GUARD
Peace in the underworld, however, is rarely permanent.
While the Salvatore family transitioned into high-tier legitimate operations, the remaining old-guard capos of the Five Families grew restless. Stripped of their illegal gambling dens and high-interest loan sharking rackets, a rogue faction led by Don Sal Valenti gathered secretly in an abandoned warehouse in Staten Island.
Valenti, a bitter septuagenarian who believed blood and fear were the only true currencies, slammed his fist onto a scarred wooden table.
“Dominic Salvatore has gone soft!” Valenti snarled to the five assembled captains. “He lets a woman run his books! He turns our families into corporate paper-pushers! We take orders from accountants now?”
“She dismantled Carmine Moretti in three hours, Sal,” one of the younger capos cautioned. “And she put the DeLucas in federal cages. She isn't just an accountant; she’s a demon with a keyboard.”
“She’s flesh and blood,” Valenti growled, his eyes glinting with murderous intent. “Without her, Salvatore is blind. We strike at the charity gala tomorrow night at the Metropolitan Museum. We take out the girl, Dominic loses his balance, and we take back the city.”
The following night, the Temple of Dendur inside the Metropolitan Museum of Art was transformed into a glittering sanctuary for New York’s ultra-wealthy. Dominic and Victoria arrived together, their entrance commanding instant silence and awe from the city’s elite.
Victoria wore an exquisite midnight-blue silk dress that shimmered like starlight, her dark hair styled in an intricate updo secured by a platinum comb. Dominic, in a classic black tuxedo, walked beside her with the undeniable presence of an absolute monarch.
As they mingled with senators, museum curators, and international ambassadors, Victoria’s sharp eyes constantly scanned the perimeter.
“Table twelve,” Victoria whispered softly, barely moving her lips as she leaned into Dominic’s arm. “Three of Valenti’s men dressed as catering staff. Their shoes are standard-issue combat soles, not hospitality dress shoes. And the server near the west pillar has a concealed firearm beneath his right armpit.”
Dominic didn't even turn his head. He chuckled softly, taking a sip of his champagne. “You never miss anything, do you?”
“Observing the staff is how I survived six months at L’Oasis,” she replied with a dry smile. “Valenti is sloppy. He thinks nostalgia can defeat intelligence.”
Dominic casually signaled Vincent, who was positioned near the glass atrium overlooking Central Park. “Vincent. Sweep the perimeter. Non-lethal if possible; let’s not ruin the museum’s floor.”
Within ten minutes, Dominic’s discreet security team intercepted Valenti’s hit squad inside the service corridors, disarming and neutralizing them without causing a single disruption to the gala.
When Valenti himself attempted to slip out through the main foyer, he found his path blocked by Dominic and Victoria.
“Leaving so early, Don Sal?” Dominic asked smoothly, stepping between the old capo and the exit.
Valenti turned pale, his hand trembling as he reached into his coat.
“I wouldn't do that, Sal,” Victoria said calmly, holding up her smartphone. “While you were planning this primitive ambush, I executed a legal buyout of your primary holding corporation in New Jersey. Every property you own, your private estate in Alpine, and your family’s pension funds now belong to the Salvatore Foundation.”
Valenti’s eyes bulged in utter disbelief. “You... you took my home?”
“I bought it at market value,” Victoria smiled coldly. “And by tomorrow morning, you will receive a formal eviction notice. You have retired, Sal. It’s time you accept it gracefully before Dominic decides to make your retirement permanent.”
May you like
Valenti looked at Dominic, whose eyes were colder than ice. The old boss bowed his head in defeat, turning around and walking out into the rain, stripped of his power, his wealth, and his legacy.
---
