Chapter 4 - The Viper’s Strike
The peace of the third floor lasted exactly forty-eight hours.
On Thursday morning, the autumn sky was a bruised, heavy purple, promising snow before nightfall. Lorenzo had spent the early morning in the tactical room in the basement with his chief of security, Marco—a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar running across his nose who had served with Lorenzo since their teenage years.
"Rossi is moving," Marco said, tossing a stack of surveillance photos onto the metal table. "Falco was spotted in the warehouse district two hours ago. He’s meeting with mercenaries from the East Coast—guys who don't care about syndicate rules or local treaties. They're heavy hitters, Lorenzo. Automatic weapons, military-grade explosives."
Lorenzo scanned the photographs. "He's going to try to hit a convoy?"
"Worse," Marco said grimly. "He’s spreading rumors in the city that you’ve gone soft. He’s telling the other families that you’re keeping a civilian woman and a kid in the estate, using them as an excuse to dodge the marriage treaty. He’s trying to provoke a vote of no confidence at the syndicate council meeting tomorrow night."
"Let him talk," Lorenzo said cold. "How are the perimeter defenses?"
"Locked down tight. But Lorenzo... we have a problem inside."
Lorenzo looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Speak."
"The legal team ran a background check on Elena," Marco said carefully, picking up a thin blue folder. "Not because we suspected her of anything—just standard procedure for anyone living on the third floor. Lorenzo... her ex-husband isn't dead."
Lorenzo froze. "She told me she was never married."
"Technically, she wasn't," Marco corrected. "She was involved with a guy named Julian Vance five years ago. He’s a small-time enforcer for the Rossi family—a gambler, a violent drunk, and the biological father of Clara."
The air in the tactical room seemed to instantly drop ten degrees.
"Julian Vance," Lorenzo repeated, the name tasting like ash in his mouth.
"He abandoned Elena when she was three months pregnant," Marco said. "Ran off to Las Vegas with fifty thousand dollars he stole from a Rossi stash house. But three days ago, right after Falco left your estate, someone paid off Julian’s gambling debts in Nevada and bought him a first-class ticket back to this city."
Lorenzo stood up slowly, the steel chair screeching against the concrete floor. "Falco brought him back."
"To claim custody," Marco said, his voice laced with disgust. "Under state law, if Julian files an emergency petition for parental rights, claiming that Elena is living in an unsafe environment—a mafia estate—he can get a court order to have Clara removed by federal marshals. And once Clara is outside these walls..."
"...Falco takes her," Lorenzo finished the sentence, his eyes burning with a lethal, terrifying intensity. "And they use her to force me to sign the harbor treaty."
"It’s a clean play, legally speaking," Marco warned. "If you refuse to yield the child to federal marshals, you’re in direct conflict with the U.S. government. The syndicate council will use that as an excuse to strip your title and sanction a hit."
Lorenzo walked to the gun rack mounted on the wall, pulled down his favorite assault rifle, checked the bolt with a sharp clack, and slung it over his shoulder.
"Where is Julian Vance right now?" Lorenzo asked.
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"He’s staying at the Grand Hotel downtown," Marco replied. "Surrounded by six of Falco’s men."
"Get the SUV," Lorenzo commanded. "We are going to have a conversation about fatherhood."
