Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
The St. Jude Chapel was an ancient stone church on the edge of the Meatpacking District, abandoned for decades and surrounded by decaying warehouses. The rain had turned to a thick, blinding sleet by eleven o'clock the following night.
Inside the penthouse panic room, I sat on a leather sofa, holding Maya and Lily tightly against my chest. The room was equipped with private monitors showing live feeds from thirty security cameras set up across the city. Beside me stood Marcus, Elias’s most trusted personal bodyguard, an silent giant armed with a submachine gun.
On the central screen, I saw Elias step out of his armored Suburban in front of the dark chapel. He wore a long dark trench coat over a three-piece suit, looking like a grim reaper stepping into the light of the streetlamps.
"Is he alone?" I asked Marcus, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"The Boss is never alone, ma'am," Marcus replied without taking his eyes off the monitor. "Look at the rooftops."
I leaned in closer. Silhouettes moved against the night sky—Elias’s snipers taking their positions on the surrounding buildings.
On the screen, the grand wooden doors of the chapel swung open. A group of ten heavily armed men emerged, forming a semicircle. From the center of the group stepped a man in an expensive cashmere coat, his hair slicked back, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Julian.
Seeing his face on the screen made my skin crawl. The memories of his heavy ring striking my face, his cold voice telling me I was worthless, flushed through my mind like acid.
"Vance!" Julian’s voice came through the audio feed, echoing through the empty street. "I see you came without your usual army! Decided to be reasonable for once?"
Elias walked forward until he was ten feet from Julian, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. "I came to see the man who leaves infants under a bridge, Cross. I wanted to see if you looked as small in person as you do in your letters."
Julian’s face twisted in rage, his composure cracking instantly. "Watch your mouth! You're talking to the future head of the Philadelphia Syndicate! Those girls are my property, Vance! They carry my father's blood!"
"They carry their mother's blood," Elias corrected, his voice calm, smooth, and echoing with absolute authority. "The blood of a woman who almost died to protect them while you ran around like a frightened dog, begging your dying father for an inheritance."
"Shut up!" Julian screamed, pulling a silver pistol from his belt and aiming it straight at Elias’s chest. "Where are they? Where is Ava? Give them to me, or I swear to God I'll order my men to blow your head off right here!"
Elias didn't flinch. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets. He just looked at Julian with an expression of cold pity.
"You really don't know who you're dealing with, do you, Julian?" Elias said softly. "You thought you were setting a trap for me tonight. But you forgot one simple rule about New York."
"What rule?" Julian spat, his finger tightening on the trigger.
May you like
Elias raised his right hand from his pocket and made a simple snapping motion with his fingers.
"This is my city."
