flash
I traced the crest etched into the tarnished metal: a coiled viper wrapped around a shattered crown. The emblem of the Valenti crime family. The same bloodline that had ambushed my father’s motorcade twenty years ago, leaving him dead in a rain-slicked alleyway and handing me the bloody reigns of the Morelli empire at nineteen. / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - The Poisoned Scalpel

The silence in the hospital room was deafening, broken only by the flatline tone screaming from the heart monitor beside Elena’s bed.

I stared at the doctor. The man who had taken an oath to heal. The man who had worked on my nephew six months ago.

“You?” I whispered, the shotgun barrel remaining dead-steady against his forehead. “Dominic bought you, too?”

Dr. Evans’ hands were shaking violently. Sweat was dripping down his neck, soaking his blue scrubs. “You... you don't understand, Mr. Morelli! They have my family! Dominic’s men held my wife and daughter hostage in my own house three hours ago! They said if I didn't finish her off, they’d kill them!”

“Where are they?” I demanded.

“A... a warehouse in Brooklyn,” he sobbed, tears spilling down his face. “Pier 42. Please, Mr. Morelli! I didn't want to do this! I saved your nephew! Remember that! I saved your nephew!”

“My nephew was saved by Elena,” I spat.

I stepped forward, grabbed Dr. Evans by the throat, and shoved him hard against the wall. With my free hand, I grabbed the emergency defibrillator paddles off the crash cart, slammed the heart medication line back into Elena’s arm, and strapped the oxygen mask over her face.

“Plug the monitor back in!” I roared at him. “Fix her! NOW!”

Dr. Evans scrambled frantically, reattaching the cables, flipping switches, and pumping manual adrenaline into her IV line.

Beep...

A faint, fragile green pulse appeared on the screen.

Beep... beep...

Elena’s chest rose and fell beneath the plastic mask. Her heart was beating again. Weak, fragile, but alive.

I let out a long breath, lowering the shotgun slightly. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed my loyal security detail—the men who weren't tied to Marco or Dominic, the old guard who had served my father.

“Frank,” I spoke into the phone. “Send ten men to St. Mary’s, third floor. Lock it down. Anyone who approaches Elena Carter without my personal clearance gets a bullet in the head. Understood?”

“Consider it done, Boss,” Frank replied. “Where are you going?”

I looked at Dr. Evans, who was cowering in the corner, staring at me in absolute terror.

“I’m going to Pier 42,” I said. “To end this war.”

Ten minutes later, I was tearing across the Manhattan Bridge toward Brooklyn. The sky was beginning to turn a bruised purple as the first light of dawn broke over the city skyline.

Pier 42 was a abandoned shipping yard on the edge of the East River. Rusting shipping containers were stacked three stories high, surrounding an ancient, decaying warehouse that smelled of salt water and rotting wood.

I parked the Dodge Charger two blocks away, slipping silently into the shadows of the shipping yard. Rain drizzled from the sky, washing the blood from my face as I checked the magazine of my Kimber .45.

Twelve rounds.

Twelve bullets to tear down twenty years of lies.

I crept up to the side door of the warehouse, peering through a cracked window. Inside, illuminated by harsh halogen work lights, sat Uncle Dominic. He was sitting at a folding table, surrounded by six heavily armed mercenaries. Standing beside him was Marco, holding a tablet, frantically typing commands.

Tied to two wooden chairs in the center of the room were a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl—Dr. Evans’ family.

“Is it done?” Dominic asked, looking up from his scotch glass. “Did Evans finish the Valenti girl?”

Marco checked his phone, frowning. “Sir... the signal from the hospital went dark three minutes ago. I can't reach the guards on the third floor.”

Dominic set his glass down with a heavy, ominous thud. “He’s alive,” he whispered, his eyes widening with realization. “Julian is alive.”

“That’s impossible!” Marco shouted. “The vault was sealed! The CO2—”

“He’s alive!” Dominic roared, slamming his fist onto the table, shattering his glass into shards. “Find him! Set a perimeter around the warehouse! If you see him, shoot to kill!”

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“You won't have to look very far, Uncle,” I called out, my voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls.

I kicked the wooden door off its hinges and stepped into the light.

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