Chapter 8 - The Shadow of Salvatore Moretti
While the quiet cocoon of Room 347 offered a brief, fragile illusion of peace, the reality outside the hospital walls was a boiling cauldron of blood and vengeance.
Three days after Elena’s awakening, she was strong enough to sit up unassisted, sip nutrient-rich broths, and hold quiet, whispered conversations about our future. The color was slowly returning to her cheeks, and the fierce, unyielding light in her eyes was back, sharper and brighter than ever.
I stood by the window of her private recovery suite, looking down at the street below where two armored SUVs and six of my most trusted enforcers maintained a 24-hour perimeter.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. It was an encrypted text from Viktor.
“Boss. We found the safehouse Moretti’s crew was using in Queens. Moretti isn’t hiding anymore. Word on the street is he’s calling a summit at the old dry docks tonight at midnight. He thinks you’re vulnerable because of the family betrayal.”
A cold, humorless smile touched the corners of my lips.
Salvatore Moretti still thought in terms of old-world syndicate rules. He thought that by eliminating Marco and banishing Sophie, he had decapitated the Mercer family, leaving me isolated, grieving, and weak. He didn't understand that cutting away the rot had only left the core of the empire harder, purer, and infinitely more lethal.
I turned away from the window, slipping my phone back into my coat.
Elena was watching me from the bed, her amber eyes tracking my every movement with absolute clarity. She didn't need to ask who texted. She knew the look on my face. It was the same look I wore on the night I took over the Mercer syndicate.
“You’re going to him,” she said softly, her voice steady, though a faint shadow of worry flickered across her brow.
“Moretti thinks he can pick the bones of my family while I’m sitting by a hospital bed,” I said, walking over to the side of the bed and resting my hands gently on the blanket, framing her face with my palms. “It’s time to end this, Elena. Once and for all. So that when our child is born, there won't be a single ghost left in the dark waiting to hurt you.”
Elena reached up, placing her hands over mine, her thumbs tracing the calloused skin of my knuckles.
“Be careful, Luke,” she whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You survived the wolves inside your own house. Don't let a stray dog in the dark take you away from us now.”
“I’m coming back to this room, Elena,” I promised, leaning down to press a deep, fierce, uncompromising kiss to her lips. “Nothing in this world—not Moretti, not an army, not hell itself—can keep me away from you now.”
I straightened up, turned on my heel, and walked out the door without looking back.
Leo and Viktor were waiting in the hallway. Their weapons were locked, loaded, and concealed beneath heavy winter coats.
May you like
“To the docks,” I commanded as we stepped into the elevator.
The war for New York was about to reach its final chapter. And Salvatore Moretti was about to learn why men lowered their voices when they spoke the name Luke Mercer.
