Chapter 5 - The War Council
The Rossi estate was an impenetrable fortress of stone and steel, hidden behind heavy iron gates in the Pennsylvania countryside.
By 3:00 AM, the massive mahogany table in the underground war room was surrounded by the most dangerous men in the state.
Rachel sat at the far end of the table. She still wore her black waitress skirt and white button-down shirt, stained with the blood from Suite 904.
She looked entirely out of place among the scarred, tailored men of the Rossi syndicate.
And yet, no one dared to look away from her.
Vincent had made it abundantly clear. She was Daniel Rossi’s daughter. Anyone who disrespected her would answer to him.
Frank stood at the head of the table, a map of the Navy Shipyard spread out under the harsh overhead lights.
“Isabella has eighty men at her disposal,” Frank explained, pointing to the red markers on the map. “They are Moretti loyalists. They have the shipyard locked down. Snipers on the cranes. Heavily armed patrols at every entrance.”
“It’s a suicide mission,” one of the capos muttered, adjusting a gold watch. “We hand over the book, they kill us anyway.”
“We aren’t handing over the book,” Vincent said coldly, pacing the length of the room. “We are going to wipe the Moretti family off the map entirely. Tonight.”
“How?” another man asked. “Marcus gave them our playbook. They know our strike teams. They know our routes.”
Rachel looked down at her hands. They had finally stopped shaking.
The memory of the ballroom flashed through her mind. The way Isabella had moved. The envelopes. The subtle, elegant manipulation.
Rachel stood up.
Every man in the room fell silent, turning to look at the twenty-two-year-old waitress.
“You’re thinking like soldiers,” Rachel said, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. “Isabella doesn’t think like a soldier. She thinks like a politician. She likes traps. She likes playing games.”
Vincent stopped pacing. “Go on.”
“She told us Pier 41,” Rachel pointed at the map. “She wants you to send your heavy hitters there. She wants a war at the pier. But my mother won’t be there. She would never keep her bargaining chip in the middle of a crossfire.”
Frank narrowed his eyes. “Then where is she keeping her?”
Rachel closed her eyes, remembering the conversation she had overheard at the banquet. The strange man Isabella handed the keycard to.
“And if Frank talks?” the man had asked.
“He won’t.”
Rachel opened her eyes. “She didn’t take my mother to the shipyard. The shipyard is the distraction. She took her back to the Bellmont Hotel. The one place we already ran away from. The one place the police are currently searching.”
Vincent stared at her, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
“She’s hiding in plain sight,” Vincent realized. “Using the police presence at the hotel as her own personal shield.”
“Exactly,” Rachel said. “You take your men to the shipyard. Make a lot of noise. Give her the war she’s expecting.”
“And while she’s distracted?” Frank asked.
Rachel looked directly at Vincent.
“I go back to the hotel. And I get my mother back.”
May you like
Vincent shook his head immediately. “Absolutely not. You have no training.”
“I have the Rossi blood,” Rachel said, stepping away from the table. “And nobody pays attention to a waitress.”
