Chapter 52
The blissful peace of the honeymoon period lasted precisely four months before the criminal underworld attempted to test the fortress once again. Domenico sat in his subterranean tactical command center, the harsh, neutral lighting reflecting off the massive digital monitors. He had shed his tailored suit jacket, his crisp dress shirt rolled at the sleeves to expose the refined, sharp tattoos on his forearms. Tony, the head of security, stepped through the heavy steel doors. His fair skin was tight with professional tension. "Boss," Tony reported, his American accent crisp and serious. "We have an incursion on the western supply routes. The Morello cartel from the West Coast is attempting to move unregistered weapons through our rail yards. They are ignoring the established borders." Domenico’s sharply defined jawline locked into stone. His intimidating eyes narrowed into dark, lethal slits. "They assume my marriage... has made me complacent," Domenico murmured, his deep, raspy voice utilizing terrifying, controlled pauses. "They believe... I have laid down my weapons." He stood up smoothly, projecting an aura of absolute, apocalyptic danger. "Prepare the strike teams. We will remind them who rules this city."
