Chapter 5 - The War in the Shadows
While peace reigned inside the Belladonna estate, the shockwaves of Dante’s sudden purge shattered the fragile truce among the regional Mafia families.
The Chicago Syndicate and the Brooklyn Russian Vor, realizing that their proxy plot with Senator St. Clair had failed miserably, went into defensive panic. They knew Dante Leone was coming for them, and a cornered beast is the most dangerous kind.
Three weeks after the failed wedding, a late-night war council was convened in an abandoned shipping terminal near the Brooklyn docks.
Nikolai Volkov, the ruthless leader of the Russian Vor, sat at a long wooden table surrounded by heavily armed mercenaries. Across from him sat Don Carmine Moretti, the aging, paranoid boss of the Chicago Syndicate.
“We made a mistake,” Carmine muttered, shaking his head as he poured himself a glass of cheap vodka. “We should have used a bomb! That nerve agent was too clever, too slow! Now Leone knows everything. He seized St. Clair’s assets, he owns the federal directors, and his soldiers are executing our street lieutenants one by one!”
Nikolai slammed his massive, tattooed fist onto the table, shattering his glass into splinters.
“Silence, old man!” Nikolai snarled, his pale blue eyes flashing with psychotic rage. “Leone is just a man made of meat and bone! He survived because of a stupid maid’s daughter! A child ruined our ten-million-dollar operation!”
“And what do you propose we do now?” Carmine demanded. “He’s fortified his estate like a fortress! He has two hundred armed guards, anti-drone defense systems, and the entire city’s police force looking the other way!”
Nikolai grinned—a terrifying, wolf-like smile that revealed yellowed teeth.
“Every fortress has a single weak stone, Carmine,” Nikolai whispered leaning forward. “Leone has no wife. He has no children of his own. But my informants tell me he has brought that maid and her brat into his private wing. He walks with the girl in his gardens every afternoon. He protects her like she is his own blood.”
Carmine frowned. “You want to hit the girl?”
“I want to take her,” Nikolai corrected softly. “We bring the child to Brooklyn. We tell Leone to surrender his shipping ports and disarm his Syndicate, or we send her back to him in a box. Let’s see how strong the great Dante Leone is when his little savior is bleeding in my cellar.”
Unbeknownst to Nikolai, sitting high above the shipping terminal on a dark crane structure, a lone sniper equipped with a long-range parabolic microphone was listening to every single word.
The sniper tapped his tactical earpiece.
“Boss,” the sniper reported into his radio. “Volkov is targeting the child. He’s planning a strike on the west estate perimeter tonight.”
In the back of a black armored limousine cruising down Fifth Avenue, Dante sat holding a silver pen, reviewing corporate acquisition files. When he heard the sniper’s report, his face turned to pure stone.
“Marco,” Dante said quietly, without looking up from his papers.
May you like
“Yes, boss?”
“Call the inner council. Inform them that the Russian Vor will cease to exist before the sun comes up tomorrow.”
