Chapter 5 - The War for Red Hook
The hit on Frank Rossi’s Red Hook warehouses went down at 4:00 a.m. on a Tuesday.
Dominic didn't send his soldiers; he led the assault himself, his towering frame moving through the misty Brooklyn docks like a specter of death. Within forty-five minutes, three of Rossi’s primary distribution hubs were up in flames, the fire turning the dark waters of the harbor into a boiling crimson reflection. Over ten million dollars worth of illicit luxury imports and contraband vanished into ash, crippling the Rossi family’s financial stability in a single blow.
Back at the Oyster Bay estate, Meline remained awake, sitting in the grand salon with a loaded shotgun resting across her knees. She had gathered all four children into the central playroom, a reinforced bunker disguised as a den, located in the absolute center of the mansion.
Luca sat by the window, a small, sleek pistol his father had given him for emergencies held tight in his hands. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark courtyard below, his teeth gritting every time the wind made the oak trees rattle against the glass.
"They won't come here, Luca," Meline said softly, not looking up from the shirt she was mending for Matteo. "Your father’s perimeter detail is too strong. They would be dead before they reached the limestone driveway."
Luca turned his head, his blue eyes searching her face. "You aren't scared at all, are you? Your own father is trying to kill you, and you're just sitting there sewing buttons."
"I died the day the doctor told me I was barren, Luca," Meline said, her voice calm and even. She looked up, her dark eyes locking onto his.
"When you’ve already lost the future you were raised to believe was yours, there is nothing left for monsters to take. The only thing that matters to me now is making sure that the four children in this room wake up tomorrow morning to see the sun. Your father is fighting for his territory, but I am fighting for your lives. And a mother who is fighting for her children is the most dangerous thing in the world."
Luca’s breath hitched at the word mother. He didn't correct her. He didn't pull his shield up. Instead, he slowly walked over to her chair, sat on the footstool at her feet, and rested his forearm against her knee, his eyes returning to the window with a new, quiet sense of purpose.
At 6:30 a.m., the heavy iron front doors groaned open.
Meline stood up, her shotgun raised to her shoulder in a fluid, practiced motion. She walked out into the grand entry hall, Luca stepping right behind her with his pistol raised.
Dominic walked through the door. His coat was gone, his white shirt stained with soot and dark, dried splatters of blood that didn't belong to him. His face was lined with immense exhaustion, but as his eyes landed on Meline standing guard with his son at her side, the tension left his shoulders in a sudden, heavy rush.
"It’s done," Dominic said, his voice raspy as he walked toward them, taking the shotgun gently from Meline’s hands and setting it against the wall. He pulled her into his chest, his arms locking around her waist with a desperate, crushing intensity. "Frank Rossi’s crew is scattered. He’s running. He’s lost everything."
Meline buried her face in his neck, the scent of smoke and rain filling her senses. "And Arban?"
May you like
"Arban survived the night," Dominic hissed, his jaw tightening against her hair. "He fled back to Brighton Beach. But he’s isolated now. The other Albanian bosses have withdrawn their support. He’s a dead man walking, Meline. He just doesn't know it yet."
As the morning light finally broke through the gray clouds over the Sound, the family gathered in the kitchen, eating warm bread and honey in a silence that felt less like a truce and more like the beginning of a true victory. But Meline knew that an isolated animal like Arban Hoxha was at his most lethal when he had nothing left to lose.
