Chapter 8 - WRATH OF A FATHER
The underworld had rules. You don't hit families. You don't involve children. Sal Romano had broken the absolute law, and by doing so, he had signed a death warrant for every man who flew his colors.
By nightfall, Dominic had mobilized an army. Two hundred heavily armed men stood in the staging warehouse. There were no grand speeches. There was only the terrifying, silent wrath of their Boss, pacing before them in a tactical vest, an assault rifle slung across his chest.
A video file pinged on Dominic's phone. He opened it.
Sal Romano’s face filled the screen, smug and desperate. "Moretti. I have the girl. She's safe, for now. You sign over the shipping ports, the Staten Island development, and you step down as Boss. You have three hours to comply, or she goes in the river."
Dominic didn't reply. He handed the phone to his tech specialist. "Trace the background noise. The echo. It's a subterranean bunker. Find it."
Ten minutes later, they had a location. An abandoned water treatment plant on the outskirts of Queens.
"We don't negotiate," Dominic told his men. "We don't take prisoners. If they surrender, kill them. If they run, kill them. No one leaves that building alive except my daughter. Move out."
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A fleet of black tactical vans tore through the night. Dominic sat in the lead vehicle, his eyes staring blankly at the metal wall. He imagined Isabella in the dark, terrified, clutching her rabbit. He imagined her calling out for him.
I'm coming, piccolina. Daddy is coming.
