Chapter 18
News of the massacre at Pier 42 reached Chicago before the blood had even washed off the asphalt. The third and final strike team, which had been staged in Philadelphia awaiting orders, immediately aborted their advance. The leaders of the Midwest syndicate realized with horrifying clarity that they had vastly underestimated Dominic Valerio. The ghost had not grown soft in his absence; he had spent the last decade sharpening his fangs.
Inside a highly secure, private aviation hangar at Teterboro Airport, Dominic sat at a heavy steel table. Across from him sat Vivienne Cross. She was handcuffed to the chair, her sharp grey suit soaked from the rain, her rosy complexion drained of all color. She had been detained at Battery Park by Elias and brought to the hangar to await Dominic’s final judgment.
"You promised to leave my family out of this if I signed the release," Vivienne whispered, her voice cracking, her arrogant facade entirely broken. "I gave them the codes because I had nothing left."
"You had your freedom, Vivienne," Dominic replied, his voice devoid of any pity. "I gave you a chance to walk away. You chose to invite wolves into my city. You chose poorly."
Before Vivienne could beg for her life, Thomas Vance walked swiftly into the hangar, holding his encrypted tablet. He bypassed Vivienne entirely, stepping up to Dominic’s side.
"Boss," Vance said quietly. "We just received a direct transmission from the Chicago bosses. They are pulling back the third team. They want to call a truce."
Dominic leaned back in his steel chair, his piercing gaze fixed on the rain hitting the hangar doors. "They do not get to declare a war, lose two teams in a single night, and then ask for peace when they realize they are outmatched."
"They are sending an envoy," Vance continued, tapping the screen. "Carmine Rossi. He’s the underboss of the Chicago outfit. He flew into Newark thirty minutes ago on a private jet. He is requesting a parley on neutral ground. He says he has an offer that will benefit both syndicates."
"There is no neutral ground in New York," Dominic stated smoothly. "This entire city belongs to me. If Carmine Rossi wants to beg for a truce, he will do it in my house. Tell him to meet me at the Grand Bellevue Hotel. The ballroom."
May you like
Vivienne flinched at the mention of the hotel. It was the exact place where she had poured champagne over Dominic’s suit, the exact place where her empire had shattered.
Dominic stood up, his massive frame towering over the table. He looked down at the trembling socialite. "Bring her with us, Elias. Let her see how true kings negotiate."
