Chapter 6 - The Ultimatum
Dominic lay on the floor, sputtering blood and clutching his broken jaw. He looked up at Adrien, horror and disbelief warring in his eyes.
“Moretti...” Dominic wheezed, struggling to lift himself up against the base of his desk. “You... you can’t do this! The Commission... the other families... they won’t allow a war over a business dispute!”
Adrien leaned down, grabbing Dominic by his expensive pinstripe lapels and hoisting the fifty-eight-year-old mob boss onto his feet, pinning him against the shattered office window.
“This wasn’t a business dispute,” Adrien whispered, bringing his face inches from Dominic’s. “You didn’t target my warehouses. You didn’t target my money. You put an acoustic torture device into a four-year-old child’s toy to target my toddlers.”
Dominic’s eyes widened. He tried to speak, but the icy rage radiating off Adrien strangled the words in his throat.
“My wife died eight months ago, Dominic,” Adrien continued, his voice dropping to a rasp that chilled the room. “I spent eight months feeling dead inside. I thought I had nothing left in me. But you... you reminded me what I am capable of when someone threatens my children.”
Adrien reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small black circuit chip he had carved out of Sophie’s doll. He forced Dominic’s mouth open and jammed the sharp metal chip onto the mob boss’s tongue.
“If I ever see your face north of Brooklyn again,” Adrien said, his grip tightening until Dominic turned blue, “if I even hear your name spoken near my estate, I won’t just destroy your business. I will tear down every wall your family owns, brick by brick, until there is nothing left of the Valenti name but dust.”
Adrien released his grip. Dominic collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently, spitting the circuit chip out onto the bloody carpet.
Carlo lay groaning in the corner, pinned beneath the shattered glass cabinet, completely unable to fight back.
Adrien turned his back on them, walking calmly out of the office and down the iron stairs. Dante was waiting at the bottom, his rifle held at low-ready, while the remaining Valenti guards lay zip-tied and disarmed on the concrete floor.
“Clean this place out,” Adrien ordered Dante as he walked past. “Burn their ledger books. Take their shipping manifests. By noon today, I want Valenti’s entire Brooklyn distribution network transferred to our control.”
“Consider it done, boss,” Dante answered with a sharp nod. “And Vance?”
Adrien looked back at Marcus Vance, who was cowering near the front bumper of the SUV, sobbing hysterically.
“Leave him for the police,” Adrien said flatly. “Send the anonymous tip to the FBI’s domestic terrorism unit with his full confession tape. Let him spend the next twenty years in a federal pen.”
Adrien stepped back into the rear seat of the black SUV. The adrenaline that had propelled him through the night was finally beginning to recede, leaving a deep, aching exhaustion in his muscles. But the cold, hollow emptiness that had filled his chest since Claire’s death was gone.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the private line to the Westchester estate.
Elena answered on the second ring, her voice tight with worry. “Mr. Moretti?”
“It’s over, Elena,” Adrien said softly, rubbing his tired eyes. “How are the children?”
There was a brief pause on the line. Then Elena spoke, her voice softening. “They slept through the night, Mr. Moretti. All three of them. They’re downstairs in the sunroom right now... playing with Sophie.”
Adrien closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the leather seat. “Is Sophie okay?”
“She’s fine,” Elena answered. “She’s sitting on the rug with Theo and Miles, teaching them how to share her drawing paper.”
A faint, long-forgotten sensation touched the corner of Adrien’s mouth. A smile.
“I’ll be home in an hour, Elena,” Adrien said. “Tell the kitchen to prepare breakfast for everyone. We’re opening the main house today.”
May you like
“The main house?” Elena asked, surprised. The main house had been locked up since the funeral.
“Yes,” Adrien replied firmly, looking out the window as the morning sun finally broke through the storm clouds over Brooklyn. “It’s time to stop hiding.”
