Chapter 33
In the dark mahogany-paneled office of the Russo estate, smelling of aged leather and rich cigars, Dante frowned as he reviewed the latest intelligence and financial reports. The complete eradication of corrupt FBI agents and the remnants of the Barone family had created a massive power vacuum in New York. The underworld never slept. Several smaller gangs and ambitious upstarts, who had once bowed deeply at the mere mention of the Russo name, were now beginning to vie for territory, causing sporadic violence and skirmishes along the shipping docks.
A few former senior members of the old mafia commission had attempted to contact Dante, demanding that he return to take over the arms smuggling routes and re-establish the bloody hierarchy.
"Boss, the situation is showing signs of losing control. They are whispering that you have gone soft ever since you bought a bakery for a waitress," Matteo reported, his scarred face twisted in undisguised fury. "They think you have lost your ruthless edge, that you no longer have the stomach to pull a trigger or order an execution."
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Dante slowly swirled the amber whiskey in his crystal glass. His pale gray eyes flashed with a cold, razor-sharp glint—a terrifying, lethal intent that had once made all of New York tremble. "Silence does not equate to weakness, Matteo. I didn't step back because I fear those rats. I stepped back because I found something far more valuable than my own life to protect."
Dante set the glass down on the marble desk with a sharp clack. He knew he couldn't resort to the bloody violence of the past, because that would break his promise to Maya and turn him back into the monster Elena had desperately fled from. He needed a different approach—a cerebral strike, devoid of gunshots or blood on the Brooklyn streets, yet heavy enough to crush any rebellious intentions in their infancy, making them understand that the lion was merely sleeping, not toothless.
