Chapter 3 - BLOOD IN THE HARBOR
Lorenzo slammed his palm against the mahogany desk.
The wood cracked under his signet ring.
“Mobilize every team,” Lorenzo snarled. “Now.”
“Lorenzo, Silvio controls the north sector—”
“I don’t give a damn what Silvio controls!”
The roar ripped through his throat.
His vision pulsed red.
“If a single hair on her head is harmed, I will burn this entire city to the waterline.”
He hung up without waiting for an answer.
He grabbed his shoulder holster from the armoire.
Two customized Kimber .45s clicked into place beneath his jacket.
He ran down the grand staircase two steps at a time.
The marble foyer was already swarming with guards.
Ten men stood in full tactical gear, waiting for orders.
The front doors blew open before Lorenzo reached the bottom landing.
Uncle Silvio walked in.
He wore an immaculate cashmere coat.
An unlit Cuban cigar rested between his yellowed teeth.
Two hulking enforcers trailed behind him like attack dogs.
“You’re making a lot of noise before sunrise, nephew,” Silvio said smoothly.
Lorenzo stopped on the bottom step.
His hand rested naturally on the grip of his sidearm.
“You’re on my property, Silvio.”
“Our property,” Silvio corrected, taking three slow steps forward.
The older man smiled, but his eyes remained dead.
“Word on the docks is that your pretty little wife took a drive she wasn't supposed to have.”
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched until his teeth ached.
“She took nothing of yours.”
“She took everything that keeps us out of federal prison, boy.”
Silvio took the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Lorenzo’s chest.
“She’s her father’s daughter. Weak. Naive. Filled with righteous garbage.”
“Watch your tongue.”
“I told you three years ago to put a bullet in her father,” Silvio sneered. “You married her instead to keep his old loyalists happy. You played house. And now the little bird has flown with the family jewels.”
Lorenzo stepped off the bottom riser.
He closed the distance between them in half a second.
Silvio’s bodyguards reached for their jackets.
Lorenzo drew both weapons faster than human eyes could follow.
The twin muzzles pressed directly into the foreheads of Silvio’s guards.
Click.
Both hammers cocked back simultaneously.
“Draw,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice dead and terrifyingly calm. “Give me a reason.”
Neither guard moved.
Sweat beaded on their foreheads.
Silvio’s smile vanished.
“You’ve lost your mind, Lorenzo.”
“You sent two Suburbans after a car on Route 3,” Lorenzo said.
Silvio didn’t blink.
“I’m cleaning up your mess.”
“She is carrying my heir.”
The words dropped like concrete into the silent foyer.
Silvio’s eyes flickered with genuine surprise.
Then the surprise hardened into something far more dangerous: ruthless calculation.
A child meant Lorenzo would never step down.
A child meant the Falcone bloodline would hold the empire for another generation.
Silvio took half a step back.
“A pregnant runner is a liability, Lorenzo.”
“If you touch her,” Lorenzo said, leaning down so his lips brushed Silvio’s ear, “I will dismantle you piece by piece in front of the entire commission.”
Lorenzo turned to his men.
“Disarm them.”
His loyal guards moved instantly, stripping Silvio’s men of their weapons and phones.
Lorenzo walked past them into the rain.
Mateo stood waiting by a black armored sedan, engine idling.
“Where did the ping drop?” Lorenzo asked, jumping into the passenger seat.
“Blackwood Forest,” Mateo replied, tires screeching against the wet pavement. “Near mile marker fourteen.”
Mateo handed him a tablet.
The screen displayed a satellite feed of a dark highway winding through dense pine trees.
A blinking red icon was stationary.
Beside it, two larger thermal signatures moved through the tree line.
“They’re hunting her on foot,” Mateo said grimly.
May you like
Lorenzo racked the slide of his rifle.
“Drive faster.”
