Chapter 4 - THE DESPERATE RACE
"Get the car," Alessandro roared into the phone, slamming his hand onto the counter. "Now!"
I didn't wait for permission. I bolted toward the private elevator, my mind consumed by a blinding, primal panic. My eight-month-old baby girl was in that building. The Rossi family had struck where they thought Alessandro was weakest.
Alessandro caught up to me just as the elevator doors opened in the subterranean garage. He grabbed my arm, pulling me behind him as he drew a sleek, black firearm from his shoulder holster.
"Stay behind me!" he ordered, his voice echoing in the concrete garage. "Marco’s secondary unit is already at the site. We are three minutes away."
We scrambled into the back of his armored sedan. Alessandro slammed his foot onto the accelerator, the engine roaring like a caged beast as the vehicle shot out of the garage, tires squealing onto the wet Manhattan streets.
Red lights meant nothing. Traffic parted as Alessandro drove with terrifying precision, weaving through yellow cabs and delivery trucks like a man possessed. Beside him, I clutched the leather seat, tears streaming down my face, praying frantically to every saint I could remember.
"Please God, please keep her safe... please keep my baby safe..." I sobbed.
Alessandro reached across the center console with his free hand, wrapping his large, powerful fingers tightly around my shaking hand.
"Listen to me, Elena," he said, his voice an anchor of absolute conviction amidst the storm. "Nothing is going to happen to your daughter. I give you my word as a Duca. I will burn this city to ash before I let anyone harm that child."
We pulled up to East 72nd Street in less than two minutes. The street was chaos.
A black delivery van was wedged against Marco’s crumpled security sedan. Two armed men in ski masks were on the pavement, neutralized by Marco’s team, but the front glass doors of the apartment building had been shattered inward.
Alessandro didn't wait for the car to come to a complete stop. He threw his door open, gun raised, and leaped out. I scrambled out right behind him, ignoring Marco’s shouts to stay in the car.
We sprinted up the marble stairs of the building, taking them three at a time. The air smelled of cordite, shattered glass, and ozone.
When we reached the fourth floor, the door to my apartment was hanging off its hinges, smashed open by a battering ram.
"Mia!" I shrieked, bursting into the apartment.
The living room was tossed—furniture upturned, lamps shattered. On the floor near the kitchen, Mrs. Gable was sitting against the wall, clutching a bleeding shoulder, but in her other arm, wrapped tightly in a yellow baby blanket... was Mia.
Mia was crying hysterically, her tiny face red, terrified by the loud noises and the shattering glass.
"Mia!" I dropped to my knees, snatching my daughter into my arms, pressing her tiny body against my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh thank God, thank God, thank God..."
Mrs. Gable looked up at Alessandro, coughing softly. "They tried... two men came through the door. But your security guard... he engaged them in the hallway. They fled down the fire escape when they realized they were outgunned."
Alessandro stepped into the ruined apartment, his eyes scanning the room like a hunting hawk. He walked over to Mrs. Gable, kneeling down to inspect her shoulder wound.
"You held the line, Mrs. Gable," Alessandro said quietly, his voice laced with immense respect. "My medical team is on the way. You will be taken care of for life."
He stood up, turning to look at me as I held my sobbing daughter close. His dark eyes flickered with a terrifying, apocalyptic rage.
"Marco!" Alessandro called out toward the hallway.
May you like
"Yes, Boss?" Marco stepped inside, holding a submachine gun, his chest heaving.
"Call a full mobilization of all family capos," Alessandro commanded, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the hair on my arms stand up. "Tell them Victor Rossi has crossed the final line. By midnight tonight... the Rossi family ceases to exist in New York."
