Chapter 8 - THE SHADOW OF NEW YORKTwo months later.
The wedding preparations were in full swing, but peace in the underworld was always a fleeting dream.
At 2:00 AM, a heavy rainstorm rattled the high glass windows of Marcone Manor.
Inside the subterranean war room beneath the estate, Silas, Mara, and Marco stood around a massive digital tactical table displaying maps of the Eastern Seaboard.
"It's Don Carmine Moretti from New York," Marco explained, pressing a button on the console to display satellite images of heavy cargo ships arriving at the Grayhaven docks. "Moretti heard about Vincent’s failed coup. He thinks Grayhaven is weak because you’re marrying a woman outside the families."
Mara looked at the tactical map. "Moretti is trying to hijack our northern shipping lanes?"
"He sent three hundred mercenaries to the docks an hour ago," Marco nodded grimly. "They’ve seized Pier 12. Moretti’s eldest son, Frankie, is demanding five million dollars in tribute or he burns the cargo warehouse."
Silas’s jaw tightened into a lethal line. He reached for his shoulder holster hanging on the wall. "Get sixty men, Marco. We hit Pier 12 now."
"Wait," Mara said, stepping into his path.
Silas stopped, looking down at her. "Mara... this isn't Vincent Vance. Frankie Moretti is a psychopath who kills for fun. I won't let him threaten our city."
"I know," Mara said coolly. She reached into her blazer pocket, pulling out her private tablet. "And that's why you shouldn't send soldiers."
Silas frowned. "What do you mean?"
Mara tapped the screen, displaying a live feed of Pier 12.
"While you were sleeping last night, Silas," Mara revealed with a wicked smirk, "I spoke with the President of the International Longshoremen’s Union—a man whose mother lives in one of my South Side apartments."
Silas’s eyebrows shot up. "And?"
"And," Mara continued, leaning against the tactical table, "Frankie Moretti’s men didn't hijack a cargo warehouse. They stepped into a trap. Three hundred union dockworkers locked the electronic security gates from the outside forty minutes ago. The warehouse is airtight, the power is cut, and the automated fire suppression system is currently pumping carbon dioxide gas into the storage bays."
Marco gasped, looking at his tablet monitor.
On the screen, Frankie Moretti and his three hundred high-tech mercenaries were pounding wildly on the locked steel shutter doors, gasping for air, waving white flags toward the security cameras!
Silas stared at the screen, then looked at Mara.
He threw his head back and let out a roaring, thunderous laugh that shook the room!
"My God, Mara!" Silas laughed, grabbing her by her waist and swinging her around in a circle. "You defeated an invading army without firing a single shot!"
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"I told you, Silas," Mara smirked, her dark eyes sparkling with triumph as he set her back down. "Don't fight like gangland thugs when you can use logistics. Now... call Don Carmine Moretti in New York and tell him his son is costing him ten million dollars in ransom if he wants him back alive."
Silas pulled her close, pressing his lips passionately to hers. "You are terrifying, woman. Absolute perfection."
