Chapter 11 - THE FALL OF SALVATOREThe ink on the federal arrest warrants was barely dry when Viktor slammed a heavy brown dossier onto my mahogany desk. The morning sun cut through the bulletproof glass of my Brooklyn penthouse, casting long, sharp shadows across the room.
"Salvatore Rossi didn't take the warning well," Viktor said, his voice flat and controlled. "His lieutenants are scrambling. They didn't expect us to hand his financial ledger and the audio of his meeting with your mother directly to the federal strike force. Half of his syndicate's accounts have already been frozen by the DOJ."
I leaned back in my leather chair, swirling a cup of black coffee. The dark circles under my eyes were gone, replaced by the calm, terrifying focus of a man who had reclaimed his life.
"He thinks freezing his accounts is the end of it," I replied, my voice dropping an octave. "Salvatore made a fatal miscalculation. He thought because I stepped away from the European underworld to raise my son, my teeth had dulled."
"What are your orders?" Viktor asked, a grim smile touching the corner of his mouth.
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"Send word to every caporegime loyal to the Rossi family in New York, Chicago, and Palermo," I instructed, my eyes locking onto his. "Tell them Salvatore traded their safety to finance a personal vendetta for a disgraced old woman. Give them twenty-four hours to step down and surrender their territory, or share his fate."
By evening, the underground empire didn't just tremble—it collapsed from within. Salvatore Rossi’s own men, realizing their boss was drowning in federal charges and personal stupidity, abandoned him en masse.
