Chapter 6 - The Ghost of New Jersey
The rain lashed against the reinforced glass windows of the Moretti estate as dawn broke over Westchester in a bruised, gray palette.
Down in the lower holding cell, Viktor Vance was no longer screaming. The interrogation had been thorough, precise, and entirely devoid of mercy. Marcus Vance had carried out his duty with cold, mechanical efficiency, and when he returned to the main house just before sunrise, his knuckles were bruised and his eyes were hollow.
He found Dominic standing in the grand foyer, staring out through the tall glass doors at the storm-tossed lawns.
“He gave up the contact,” Marcus said, his voice raspy and exhausted.
Dominic didn't turn around. “Who is it?”
“Not Salvatore Romano himself,” Marcus said, walking up beside his boss. “Salvatore died in a private clinic in Zurich six months ago. But his nephew, Julian Romano, took over what was left of the Jersey family. He’s been operating out of an abandoned freight warehouse down in Bayonne, rebuilding his father’s network under an alias.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “Julian.”
“Viktor said Julian promised him a stake in the northern shipping lanes if he could eliminate Ethan,” Marcus continued, swallowing hard. “He thought you’d be so broken by grief you wouldn't be able to hold the syndicate together, and the Council would force a restructuring of the ports.”
“A boyish fantasy,” Dominic said coldly. He turned away from the glass, his expression carved from pure ice. “Tell the strike teams to gear up. We’re going to New Jersey.”
“Boss,” Marcus hesitated, “Julian’s warehouse is fortified. He’s got thirty armed mercenaries holding the perimeter, and federal transit cops on his payroll. If we go in guns blazing, it’ll look like a war zone.”
“Let it look like a war zone,” Dominic said, walking toward the armory doors. “Let every rival syndicate from here to Chicago know what happens when someone touches my son.”
Before Marcus could follow, a soft pair of footsteps echoed across the marble foyer.
Sophia stood by the base of the grand staircase, holding little Lily in her arms. The toddler was rubbing her eyes sleepily, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
Dominic stopped in his tracks. The terrifying, ice-cold mafia boss melted instantly into something far more grounded when his eyes met the child who had saved his lineage.
He walked over to them, stopping a foot away. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently brushing a stray curl from Lily’s forehead.
“Are you going away, Mr. Moretti?” Lily asked softly, her big eyes looking up at him without a trace of fear.
“Just taking care of some garbage, sweetheart,” Dominic said, his voice softening into a gentle rumble. He looked up at Sophia. “Lock the doors behind me. Marcus will leave four men inside the perimeter. Nobody gets in unless they know the daily passcode.”
“Be careful, Dominic,” Sophia said, her hand reaching out instinctively to lightly touch his sleeve.
May you like
Dominic looked down at her fingers on his coat sleeve. It was a small gesture, but in his world, it meant everything.
“I always am,” he said quietly. Then, he turned and walked out into the storm.
