Chapter 6 - The Ghost of ClevelandThe rain hammered against the bulletproof windows of Tony’s downtown safehouse—a sprawling, concrete-reinforced loft overlooking the industrial harbor.
Inside, the air smelled of stale coffee, gun oil, and burning tobacco. Three of Tony’s most loyal remaining captains—men who had bled for him since the Cleveland days—stood around a massive oak table covered in holographic schematics and financial ledgers.
"Marco is clean of the hit, Boss," one captain, a scarred veteran named Sal, reported, tossing a encrypted drive onto the table. "We pulled him out of his safehouse an hour ago. He was shaking like a leaf. He didn't know anything about Geneva or the federal buyout."
Tony sat at the head of the table, his injured arm resting in a black sling. Bruno lay across his feet, fast asleep, exhausted from the chaos of the past twenty-four hours.
"If Geneva wants a global war, we'll give them an audience," Tony said, his voice cold as ice. "They think I'm weak because I got ambushed in a sedans? They think a bullet in the shoulder makes me a retired old man?"
"How do we hit back, Tony?" Sal asked, leaning forward. "Geneva operates through shell companies and anonymous proxy servers. We can't trace their money, and we can't reach their board members overseas."
Tony smiled faintly—a dangerous, razor-thin expression that hadn't graced his face in years.
"We don't need to reach them overseas," Tony murmured, tapping the burner phone he took from Vance. "Vance’s secure terminal was communicating with a local proxy server right here in the city. A financial clearinghouse fronting as an import-export firm in the financial district."
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Miller, who had quietly joined them in the loft, crossed his arms. "That's federal territory, Tony. You go in there with guns blazing, and you'll have the entire Department of Justice breathing down your neck forever."
"Detective," Tony looked up, locking eyes with the cop. "Who said anything about guns blazing?"
