Chapter 4 - The Phantom BenefactorBy midnight, the meat-packing plant was dead silent once more, save for the steady drip of a leaking pipe and the groans of unconscious men tied securely to metal pillars. Jax Miller was on his knees in the center of the room, bleeding from a dozen cuts, staring up in sheer, unadulterated terror at the man standing over him.
Enzo crouched down, resting his forearm on his knee, looking down at the broken gang leader with clinical detachment.
"Who's funding you, Jax?" Enzo asked smoothly, pulling out a slim silver lighter and flicking it open. The small flame danced in the dim light, casting long, jittery shadows across the walls. "The Red Serpents are a pack of stray dogs. Stray dogs don't buy military-grade encrypted radios and imported firearms. Who gave you the contract to terrorize the south side?"
"I... I don't know!" Jax sobbed, flinching as the flame drew closer to his face. "I swear to God, I only take orders through a middleman! A lawyer! A guy named Sterling!"
Enzo’s eyes narrowed slightly. Sterling.
The name clicked into place like a tumbler in a high-security vault. Victor Sterling—a corporate raider, a high-society ghost who specialized in hostile real estate buyouts, forcing families out of commercial districts by any means necessary to clear land for massive luxury development projects.
"Sterling wants the south side blocks cleared for commercial zoning," Enzo muttered to himself, the pieces snapping together with terrifying clarity. "He's been using your gang as a blunt instrument to terrorize shop owners into selling for pennies."
"Yes! Yes, exactly!" Jax cried out, grasping at straws. "We were just clearing the board for him! Please—spare me, Mr. Falcone! I can give you his ledger! I have his numbers!"
Enzo closed the lighter with a sharp click. He stood up, brushing a speck of dust off his sleeve.
"You misunderstand, Jax," Enzo said coldly, turning his back on the cowering gang leader. "I didn't come here to negotiate. I came here to audit."
He walked toward the exit as Marco stepped forward.
"Clean up the mess," Enzo ordered, not looking back. "Leave one alive to tell Sterling that his dogs have been put down. And make sure the flower shop's damages are repaired by sunrise. Every vase replaced. Every window re-glazed. I want it looking better than it did yesterday."
"Consider it done, Boss," Marco replied.
As Enzo climbed back into the waiting Maybach, the rain began to clear, parting to reveal a pale, indifferent moon. He looked down at his coat sleeve, where Mia had been resting her head an hour earlier. A single, faint smudge of white cotton fiber clung to the dark wool.
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For thirty years, Enzo Falcone had believed that power meant standing completely alone at the top of the world, untouchable and unfeeling. But as the car accelerated back toward his fortress-like estate, a strange, unfamiliar warmth settled in his chest.
He wasn't just a boss anymore. He had stepped out of the shadows. And Victor Sterling was about to find out what happens when you wake a sleeping wolf.
