Chapter 12 - THE SHADOWS STRIKE BACK
The crisp autumn air of Boston carried the scent of woodsmoke and impending rain.
Marin sat at her glass desk, reviewing the quarterly audit reports for the shipping terminals along the south shore.
Everything was balanced.
Every account was clean.
The empire was operating with clockwork precision.
Yet, a cold, nagging unease prickled at the back of her neck.
A soft chime echoed from the secure terminal on her desk.
An encrypted message flagged with high-priority red lettering.
Marin clicked it open.
It was a surveillance still taken from a traffic camera near the northern harbor three hours ago.
The image showed a sleek black sedan parked illegally in a restricted zone.
And stepping out of the passenger door was a man everyone believed was locked away in a maximum-security federal penitentiary across the state line—Viktor Marcone, Vincent's ruthless younger brother.
Marin’s blood ran cold.
She stood up instantly, grabbing the encrypted tablet off her desk, and bolted out of the office.
She crossed the hallway in two strides, pushing open the heavy mahogany doors to Rafe's private study without knocking.
Rafe was sitting at his desk, deep in conversation with Abel Ferraro.
Both men snapped their attention toward her the moment the door swung open.
"Marin?" Rafe asked, standing up immediately, seeing the pale urgency in her face.
"What is it?"
"He's out," Marin said breathlessly, holding out the tablet.
Rafe crossed the room in three strides, taking the device from her hand.
His dark eyes scanned the traffic camera still.
The expression on his face hardened into cold, absolute granite.
"Viktor Marcone," Abel muttered, peering over Rafe's shoulder.
"I thought the federal judge denied his parole request last month."
"Paroles can be bought," Rafe said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, glacial whisper.
"Or judges can be threatened."
"He's not just back in the city," Marin warned, stepping closer.
"Look at the timestamp on this file. The car was spotted three blocks from my mother's hospital."
The temperature in the private study seemed to drop ten degrees instantly.
Rafe slowly raised his head.
The predator that had spent years carving out an empire from the shadows of Boston awakened with terrifying clarity.
"Abel," Rafe ordered, his voice like cracking ice.
"Mobilize every tactical unit we have."
"Target?" Abel asked, his hand dropping automatically to his holster.
Rafe looked at Marin, then back at Abel.
"Find Viktor Marcone," Rafe commanded softly.
May you like
"And make sure he never reaches the hospital."
THE END OF CHAPTER 12
