Chapter 15 - Poison in the Velvet
The wrought-iron gates of the Rossi estate hung off their massive hinges, twisted and charred by explosive charges.
Black smoke billowed into the dark night sky from the south pavilion, tinged with the acrid stench of cordite and burning rubber.
Dominic didn't slow the Suburban down; he barreled through the ruined entryway, gravel spraying in all directions as we slid to a halt near the fountain.
Bodies in tactical gear lay scattered across the manicured lawn.
Some wore the Rossi crest; others wore unmarked black uniforms with Leone insignia pinned beneath their vests.
I kicked my car door open before the vehicle had fully stopped, sprinting toward the medical wing with my Glock drawn.
"Clara, stay behind me!" Dominic yelled, racking his rifle as he caught up with long, frantic strides.
The glass atrium leading to my mother’s private suite was shattered into thousands of glittering shards.
Empty shell casings littered the polished oak floor like discarded coins.
"Mom!" I screamed, my voice bouncing off the high, hollow walls.
"Clara... over here..." a weak, trembling voice called from beneath an overturned mahogany credenza.
I dropped to my knees, shoving the heavy furniture aside with reckless strength.
Dr. Evans, Dominic’s personal physician, was curled on the floor, clutching a bleeding gunshot wound in his shoulder.
"Where is she?" I demanded, grasping his lapels. "Where is my mother?"
"A man... wearing a white tie..." Dr. Evans gasped, struggling for breath.
"He had six men with him. They breached the secondary panic room."
"They didn't kill her, Donna Clara... they took her."
A cold, suffocating weight settled into the pit of my stomach.
Marcus Leone hadn't come to assassinate my mother.
He had taken her as collateral.
Dominic knelt beside me, his hand resting firmly on my shaking shoulder while Vincenzo signaled for the medical team to tend to the doctor.
"There was a message," Dr. Evans whispered, pointing a bloodstained finger toward the wall behind the shattered bed.
Written in fresh, dark crimson blood across the white plaster were four chilling words:
*The Ledger or Her Throat.*
I stared at the writing, the world falling dead silent around me.
The seven scars across my torso burned as if the bullets were reheating beneath my skin.
Every vulnerability I had tried to bury was now laid bare before the most ruthless syndicate in the country.
"He wants the Cleveland ledger," Dominic said coldly, his voice devoid of warmth, humanity, or restraint.
"The ledger proves that Marcus and his faction embezzled forty million from the Commission."
"If that book goes public, Marcus is executed by his own allies."
"Then we give it to him," I said immediately, spinning around to face Dominic.
Dominic didn't blink. "If we give him the ledger, Clara, he kills your mother anyway."
"Men like Marcus don't leave witnesses when their survival is on the line."
"Then what do we do?" I screamed, the composure I had maintained through gunfights and mob summits finally cracking.
"She is my mother, Dominic! She spent twenty years in hell because of our families!"
Dominic reached out, grabbing both of my arms and pulling me flush against his chest.
He held me so tightly I could barely draw breath, forcing me to anchor myself against his unyielding strength.
"Listen to me, Clara," he growled softly into my ear, his voice vibrating with absolute certainty.
"We are not trading the ledger."
"We are going to use the ledger to bait Marcus into a killing ground of our own making."
"You are going to call him."
"You are going to sound terrified, broken, and desperate to bargain."
"And when he shows up to claim his prize, we will dismantle his empire piece by bloody piece."
I pressed my face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with gun oil and rain.
The trembling in my hands slowly ceased.
The panic evaporated, replaced by the dark, icy resolve that had kept me alive in the ICU.
I stepped back from his embrace, smoothing down the torn fabric of my emerald gown.
"Where does he want the exchange?" I asked, my voice calm, lethal, and focused.
Vincenzo walked in from the hallway, holding a burner phone that was vibrating violently against his palm.
"It’s Marcus Leone," Vincenzo said, offering the phone to Dominic.
Dominic took the phone, looked at me for a single second, and then pressed the speaker button.
"Rossi," Dominic answered flatly.
"Don Dominic," Marcus Leone’s smug, arrogant voice purred through the speaker.
"I believe you have something that belongs to me, and I have a frail, lovely woman who misses her daughter dearly."
"Put my mother on the phone, Marcus," I interrupted, stepping close to the microphone.
A harsh, mocking laugh echoed through the line.
"Donna Clara. How delightful to hear your voice."
"Your mother is resting comfortably in a shipping container somewhere in Queens."
"Though I must warn you, the air supply inside those containers is remarkably limited."
"You have six hours to bring the original Cleveland ledger to Pier 42."
"No capos. No backup. Just you, Dominic, and the book."
"If I see a single Rossi soldier within five miles of the docks, I will weld the doors shut and dump her into the East River."
"We'll be there," Dominic said coldly, hanging up the phone before Marcus could gloat any further.
Dominic looked at Vincenzo. "Assemble the Ghost Unit."
"Don Rossi," Vincenzo hesitated. "The Commission explicitly forbade open warfare in the city."
Dominic turned his terrifying gaze onto his consigliere.
May you like
"The Commission died the second they crossed the threshold of my home."
"Open the armory."
