The antiseptic smell of the hospital room was starting to fray Dominic Moretti’s legendary patience. Less than twenty-four hours after cheating death on Fifth Avenue, he was already sitting upright in the motorized bed, an intravenous line trailing from his muscular forearm like a tether he fully intended to snap.

Within minutes of Lorenzo slipping out into the rainy Manhattan night, the entire Moretti intelligence and tactical apparatus was mobilized. Dominic didn't wait for federal authorities or slow bureaucratic justice; he led the hunt personally.

For forty-eight hours, the underworld of the tri-state area experienced a purge unlike anything seen in decades.

Maya and Vince coordinated a series of simultaneous, lightning-fast tactical raids across New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut. Every safehouse, front company, weapons cache, and financial conduit belonging to Lorenzo’s syndicate was systematically dismantled, seized, or blown to pieces.

Dozens of Lorenzo’s top lieutenants were rounded up and delivered directly to federal custody or interrogated in secret holding facilities.

Dominic sat in a tactical command van parked outside an abandoned warehouse in the Brooklyn Navy Yard—Lorenzo’s last known stronghold. The rain battered the roof of the van as Dominic loaded the magazine of his Sig Sauer, his face illuminated only by the green glow of tactical monitors.

May you like

$The sterile scent of antiseptic and bleach hit Dana the moment she crossed the hospital room threshold. Every instinct she had honed over decades of service—calmness under fire, methodical assessment, absolute control—threatened to fracture at the sight of her daughter. Sophie’s bruised wrist peeked out from beneath the pale hospital blanket, a silent testimony to a brutality that Dana’s mind refused to accept as accidental.$