Chapter 6 - The Shadows of the Falcone Syndicate
By two o'clock that afternoon, the Vance empire had been purged.
The three compromised board members signed their unconditional resignations and transferred their shares back to the primary trust under the quiet persuasion of Frank’s security team. By three o'clock, their private bank accounts were frozen, and they were escorted to Logan Airport with one-way tickets out of the country and strict instructions never to return to New England.
I stood in my private corner office on the top floor of Vance Tower, looking out over the rain-slicked skyline of Boston.
My phone vibrated on the desk.
I picked it up. “Report.”
“Dante Falcone has mobilized,” Miller’s voice crackled through the secure line. “The moment Julian was dragged out of the tower, one of his spotters alerted Falcone’s headquarters in the North End. Falcone has pulled thirty armed men from his East Boston safehouses. They’re converging on their private shipping yard near the Mystic Wharf.”
“Are they moving toward the Berkshires?” I asked, my chest tightening with immediate protective instinct for Claire.
“No,” Miller confirmed. “The Berkshire estate’s location is still completely secure. Falcone thinks you’re going to hit the Mystic Wharf to seize his illicit shipments. He’s digging in for a siege.”
“He thinks like a street thug,” I said coldly. “He expects a gunfight at the docks. We’re not giving him a gunfight. We’re cutting his throat financially before we ever fire a shot.”
“What’s the play?”
“Leak the manifest logs from Falcone’s warehouse to the Federal Maritime Commission and the FBI Organized Crime Division,” I ordered. “Every shipping container containing unregistered arms, every counterfeit bond, every illegal import. Give the feds thirty minutes of advance warning. When the federal agents swarm the docks, Falcone’s men will be scattered and disorganized.”
“And Dante himself?”
“Dante will try to flee to his private compound in New Hampshire,” I said, knowing the Falcone playbook inside and out. “And there is only one private airstrip he uses when the feds turn up the heat.”
“The Lawrence municipal runway,” Miller answered instantly.
“Have our secondary team block the runway access roads,” I commanded. “I don't want Dante dead. I want him alive, stripped of his resources, and standing in the same warehouse as Julian Vance.”
I hung up the phone and walked over to the private elevator.
As the elevator descended toward the underground parking garage, my thoughts drifted back to the quiet estate in the mountains. I pulled out my phone and dialed the private line in the master bedroom.
She answered on the first ring. “Roman?”
Hearing her voice instantly washed away the violence and chaos of the morning.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, my tone softening completely.
“The doctor just finished another checkup,” Claire said, her voice filled with relief. “She said the baby’s vitals are completely stable. Roman… I saw the news. They’re reporting mass raids down at the harbor.”
“It’s the clean-up, Claire,” I assured her. “Julian is in custody. The board has been purged. The Falcone syndicate is collapsing as we speak. It’s almost over.”
A long pause stretched across the line.
“Be careful,” she whispered. “Please. Our baby needs a father.”
Those words rooted themselves deep in my soul. For years, I had fought for power, for territory, for pride. But none of those things had ever felt as vital as the promise to return to the woman and child waiting for me in the mountains.
“I’ll be home before sunrise,” I promised. “I love you, Claire.”
“I love you too, Roman.”
The elevator doors slid open into the dim concrete garage. Frank was waiting beside a convoy of three armored black sedans, his weapon prepped and ready.
May you like
I put the phone away, my expression hardening into stone.
“Let’s finish this,” I said.
