Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Syndicate
I walked out into the corridor, closing the door behind me.
Marcus handed me the tablet. On the screen was a live feed from the security desk in the lobby. A silver metal briefcase sat on the polished marble counter.
"We scanned it," Marcus reported. "No explosives. No biohazards. Just paper and a drive."
"Bring it up," I ordered.
Two minutes later, Marcus set the open briefcase on the conference table in the private floor lounge. Inside lay a yellowed, leather-bound notebook and a black USB flash drive.
I recognized the notebook instantly. My breath caught in my throat.
It belonged to my father, Thomas Vance—the founder of the original syndicate before he was assassinated twenty years ago. The family ledger. The document that contained the names of every judge, politician, and mafia boss who had ever taken a bribe or ordered a hit in New York City.
When my father died, the ledger vanished. Many believed it was burned. Others believed it was a myth.
I picked up the USB drive, plugged it into my encrypted laptop, and opened the single video file stored inside.
The screen flickered to life.
A man sat in a high-backed leather chair, obscured by heavy shadows. Only his hands were visible—hands wearing heavy gold rings featuring the insignia of the Falcone family, our oldest rivals.
"Hello, Ethan," a deep, distorted voice spoke through the speakers. "Or should I say... Don Vance?"
I stared at the screen, my expression turning into a mask of stone.
"You thought you killed every Falcone five years ago," the voice continued with a dark chuckle. "You thought you erased us. But weeds always grow back, Ethan. Your father took something from my family thirty years ago—the original land deeds to the Brooklyn waterfront. And now, you are going to give them back."
The camera tilted slightly, revealing a live feed on a small monitor behind the hidden man.
The monitor showed a long-distance camera view of St. Jude’s Hospital. A red laser dot was hovering right over the window of Room 1204.
Clara and Leo’s room.
"You have twenty-four hours to deliver the Brooklyn waterfront deeds and your father's ledger to Pier 42," the man said. "If you call the police, or if you try to hunt me down, the sniper on the rooftop across from St. Jude's will put a bullet through your son's head."
The video cut to black.
Marcus pulled his sidearm, turning toward the window. "I'll take a team to the opposite rooftop right now!"
"No!" I barked, grabbing Marcus’s shoulder. "He wants us to react. He wants a firefight in public. That sniper is just a distraction."
I walked back to the window overlooking the city. The rain was falling harder now, blurring the lights of Manhattan into streaks of red and yellow.
They thought they could use my son to break me. They thought finding Leo was their winning move.
They didn't understand.
Before today, I was a man who fought for power, territory, and respect. I was dangerous because I had nothing to lose.
Now, I had a son.
They hadn't given themselves leverage. They had just given Manhattan's most feared predator a reason to tear the city apart at the seams.
"Marcus," I said quietly, my voice ringing with an absolute, terrifying calm.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?"
"Call the captains. All of them. Tell them the peace treaty is over."
