Chapter 5 - THE ASHES OF MANHATTAN
The explosion ripped through Pier 42 like a localized strike of lightning.
The fuel tank of the Maybach ruptured in a massive ball of yellow fire, throwing Lucian and Bianca through the air like ragdolls. The pressure wave shattered the remaining glass in the crane control tower, sending a cold gust of wind whipping through my hair.
I didn't flinch. I lowered the rifle, unclipped my tactical harness, and stepped down the iron ladder into the smoke-filled courtyard below.
surrounding me, the battle was already over. Marco Vitale’s loyalists had swept through the pier, disarming the surviving Sicilian mercenaries and stacking their weapons in a heap.
Marco stood beside a burning SUV, wiping a splatter of dark blood from his cheek with a white silk handkerchief. When he saw me walking through the mist, holding a heavy sidearm at my hip, he offered a low, respectful bow.
“The dock is secured, Mrs. Moretti,” Marco said softly. “Don Carmine’s force has been completely neutralized. The survivors are being loaded onto cargo trucks as we speak.”
“And Lucian?” I asked, my voice devoid of any emotion.
Marco gestured toward the far side of the pier, near the edge of the dark, churning East River.
Lucian was alive, but barely. His pristine suit was torn and scorched black, his face covered in soot and wet blood. He was crawling on his hands and knees across the wet asphalt, dragging his left leg, which hung at an unnatural angle.
A few feet away from him lay Bianca Romano, unconscious, her white coat stained crimson, groaning softly in pain.
Lucian dragged himself toward me, stopping just inches from my combat boots. He lifted his head, his breathing coming in ragged, bloody gasps.
“Serena...” he rasped, coughing violently. “Please... Nico...”
I looked down at him, feeling no rage, no satisfaction, no triumph. Just a vast, hollow void where my heart used to be. The terror of Manhattan, the man who made prosecutors tremble and capos bow, was lying at my feet, broken, bleeding, and stripped of every shred of dignity.
I knelt down in front of him, resting my forearms on my knees so our eyes were level.
“Do you remember what you said to me on our wedding day, Lucian?” I whispered, my voice cutting through the crackle of burning metal around us.
Lucian’s bloodshot eyes searched mine frantically. “I... I swore I would protect you...”
“No,” I corrected him gently. “You said, 'If anyone ever dares to hurt you, Serena, I will tear their world down brick by brick.' You forgot to mention what would happen if the person hurting me was you.”
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a small, laminated legal document—the emergency custody order issued by the Supreme Court of New York, granting me sole, absolute legal and physical custody of Nico Moretti, while stripping Lucian of all parental rights under charges of high-level treason and domestic terrorism.
I pressed the document into his blood-stained palm.
“Your empire is gone, Lucian,” I told him, each word landing like a lethal blow. “Marco has already assumed control of the family board. Your bank accounts have been seized by the federal government under the RICO indictment I filed this morning. The docks belong to me. And your son will never know your name.”
Lucian let out a choked, desperate sob, his bloody fingers clutching the legal paper until it crumpled in his grip. “You can’t do this... he’s my blood... he’s a Moretti!”
“He’s my son,” I said, standing up and stepping away from him. “And his name is Vance now.”
I turned my back on him and walked toward the waiting armored SUV where Elena stood holding the door open.
“What about Bianca?” Marco asked, stepping up beside me, pointing a suppressed pistol down at the unconscious woman.
May you like
I paused at the door of the SUV, looking back over my shoulder at Lucian, who was weeping openly on the wet asphalt, begging me not to walk away.
“Leave her,” I said coldly. “Let her take care of him. They deserve each other.”
