Chapter 3 - Shadows Over the Blue Door
The move to the upstate estate was scheduled for the end of the week, but fate in the underworld rarely respects timelines.
It was a Tuesday evening when the storm returned to New York, pounding the pavement with torrential rain. Aleandro was stuck in an emergency meeting at his Manhattan headquarters, dealing with a breach in his shipping network.
"Boss," Marco interrupted, rushing into the boardroom without knocking. His face was pale, his phone clasped tightly in his hand. "The surveillance team at the Brooklyn apartment just missed their check-in."
Aleandro stood up so fast his leather chair crashed backward onto the floor. "Get the cars. Now!"
Within three minutes, a convoy of three black armored SUVs was tearing through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, sirens wailing quietly as they pushed through red lights toward Brooklyn. Aleandro sat in the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle, a cold dread twisting inside his chest that he hadn't felt in twenty years.
"Call Falcone! Tell him to have a trauma unit on standby!" Aleandro ordered, his knuckles white as he gripped the dashboard.
"Boss, we have eyes on the street," Marco reported, listening to his earpiece. "A black van was seen speeding away from the rear alley of the building two minutes ago!"
"Block the bridges!" Aleandro roared. "Nobody leaves Brooklyn tonight!"
When the SUVs screeched to a halt outside the building with the blue door, Aleandro didn't wait for his men. He kicked the building's front door open and sprinted up the stairs three at a time, his gun drawn.
The door to apartment seven was hanging off its hinges, splintered down the middle. Inside, the apartment was tossed. Furniture was overturned, medical monitors lay smashed on the floor, and the crocheted blanket Ruth loved was torn in two.
Aleandro rushed into the bedroom.
Ruth was on the floor, her oxygen mask ripped away, her body shivering violently as she gasped for air. But she was conscious. Her hands were scraped and bleeding.
Aleandro dropped his weapon and fell to his knees beside her, lifting her head. "Ruth! Where is she? Where is Annie?"
Ruth grabbed his lapels with terrifying strength, her bloodshot eyes locked onto his. "They... took her..." she choked out, blood on her lips. "Men in dark coats... they broke the door..."
"Did they say who sent them?"
"The leader..." Ruth gasped, her body shaking. "He left a message... for you... He said... tell Moretti... the debt for Clara... is being settled..."
Viktor Venturi.
Aleandro’s face turned to stone. The warmth that had briefly touched his life over the past week vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying coldness. The killer that had built the greatest crime syndicate in the northeast reawakened in full force.
"Marco," Aleandro called out softly, though his voice carried an icy weight that made every man in the room shudder.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Bring Dr. Falcone here to stabilize Ruth. Move her to my private clinic under heavy guard."
"And you, Boss?"
May you like
Aleandro stood up, smoothing down his suit coat. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in half a decade—a number that connected directly to the underground darknet network of the city's deadliest informants.
"I am going to burn New York to the ground until I find my girl," Aleandro said.
