Chapter 6 - The Aftermath in Manhattan
By three o'clock the following morning, the balance of power in New York’s underworld had completely shifted.
Victor Moretti sat in his high-rise penthouse overlooking Central Park, clutching a glass of scotch in a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. Across the glass table lay Silas Kane, bruised, battered, and stripped of his reputation, alongside five of Moretti's top lieutenants who had been arrested by federal authorities after Lorenzo leaked detailed ledgers of Moretti's illegal port operations.
Lorenzo Duca didn't just survive the attempt on his life—he had used the opportunity to obliterate Moretti’s entire financial network in twenty-four hours.
A quiet chime rang on Moretti's phone. He picked it up with a trembling hand.
"Moretti," he rasped.
"Victor," Lorenzo’s deep voice answered from the speaker. "I hear you're looking for new business partners."
Moretti swallowed hard, looking out at the glittering lights of Manhattan. "Lorenzo... listen to me. Kane acted alone. He told me he had an opportunity—"
"Save your breath, Victor," Lorenzo cut in flatly. "You owe me forty million dollars in restitution for damages to my property. You have forty-eight hours to transfer the deeds to your shipping terminals in Brooklyn to my family's trust. If you fail, the next call I make won't be to you—it will be to the federal prosecutor who holds your indictment papers."
"You took my entire crew!" Moretti shouted desperately.
"You took my peace," Lorenzo replied coldly. "Consider yourself lucky I left you with your life."
The line went dead.
Back at the Long Island estate, the morning sun broke through the clouds, painting the sky in bright hues of pink, gold, and turquoise. The tire tracks in the mud near the eastern wall had been cleaned, the floodlights turned off, and the mansion restored to its pristine, quiet state.
A black sleek sedan pulled up to the main front entrance.
The rear door opened, and Clara Bennett stepped out, holding sleeping Mia in her arms. She looked up at the vast limestone mansion, her stomach knots tightening. She didn't know what waited for them now that the threat was gone. Would Lorenzo send them away to keep his life private? Would he go back to being the cold, distant boss who barely spoke a word?
The heavy front doors of the mansion swung open.
Lorenzo walked down the wide stone steps. He had discarded his suit jacket, wearing a simple white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and dark trousers. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright as he walked straight toward Clara.
He stopped in front of her, looking at Mia, who opened her warm hazel eyes, yawning softly as she rubbed her nose.
"Uncle Lorenzo!" Mia chirped, her face lighting up with a bright smile. "Did you beat the bad men?"
Lorenzo felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth swell inside his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced in over twenty years. He reached out and gently took Mia from Clara’s arms, holding the three-year-old comfortably against his broad shoulder.
"Yes, sweetheart," Lorenzo said softly, looking at Mia. "The bad men are gone. They're never coming back."
Mia smiled, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck. "Did you find my red ball?"
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Lorenzo chuckled—a deep, rich sound that made Clara’s breath catch in her throat.
"I found your red ball," Lorenzo said, pulling the clean rubber ball from his back pocket and handing it to her. "And I bought you ten more."
