Chapter 6 - The Ghost of Brooklyn
Dominic Moretti looked exactly as he had the day his luxury yacht exploded off the coast of Sicily five years ago.
His expensive Italian suit was immaculate, and his arrogant, mocking smile still made my blood boil with intense hatred.
I stepped immediately in front of Elena and my daughter, shielding them from the dozen rifles aimed at our heads.
I demanded to know how he was still alive and why he was ambushing me in a filthy Brooklyn alleyway.
Dominic laughed smoothly, walking slowly toward us with his hands casually resting in his tailored pockets.
He revealed that he had faked his own death to avoid severe federal prosecution and let me take the heat for the family business.
He had been living comfortably in Monaco, secretly pulling the strings from the shadows while I ran the dangerous empire.
But when he heard about my sudden heart attack, he decided it was finally time to reclaim his rightful place on the throne.
He admitted that Marco had been working for him the entire time, orchestrating the betrayal to push me out completely.
My own brother had ordered the assassination attempt, completely indifferent to the fact that we shared the same blood.
Dominic looked at the little girl hiding behind my legs, his dark eyes narrowing with a cruel, calculating interest.
He told me he was genuinely impressed that I had managed to keep a secret family hidden from him for seven long years.
He ordered his mercenaries to grab Elena and the child, intending to use them as permanent, unbreakable leverage against me.
I raised my fists, fully prepared to die fighting right there rather than let my brother lay a single finger on them.
Suddenly, the deafening roar of police sirens filled the night air, echoing rapidly off the surrounding warehouse walls.
Red and blue lights flashed intensely from the end of the alley, accompanied by the screeching of heavy police tires.
Dominic cursed loudly, aggressively signaling his men to fall back and secure their vehicles before the cops arrived.
He pointed a threatening finger at me, promising this war was not over, before diving into the nearest armored SUV.
The cartel vehicles sped away instantly, leaving us standing alone in the alley just as the police cruisers swarmed the area.
Dozens of officers poured out of their cars, aiming their service weapons at me and screaming for me to get on the ground.
I slowly lowered myself to the dirty pavement, placing my hands behind my head in total, absolute surrender.
An older, gray-haired detective stepped out of an unmarked car, walking toward me with a grim, serious expression.
I recognized him immediately as Detective Reynolds, a corrupt man I had personally bribed countless times over the past decade.
I expected him to arrest me to save his own career, but instead, he reached down and casually offered me a hand up.
He told me to get up quickly, explaining that he wasn't there to arrest me or book me into the system at all.
Reynolds handed me a thick manila envelope and tossed the keys to a secure police safehouse onto my chest.
"Your brother just crossed a very dangerous line by bringing foreign mercenaries into my city, Vincent," the detective whispered angrily.
He pointed toward his unmarked car, ordering me to get my family inside before Dominic realized the police response was a fake.
I grabbed the envelope and rushed my family into the vehicle, desperately grateful for any sort of temporary safe haven.
I opened the envelope in the backseat, pulling out a massive stack of highly classified financial documents.
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The documents proved that Dominic hadn't just faked his death; he had stolen billions from a rival Russian syndicate to fund his return.
And according to the digital tracker planted on the envelope, the Russians were currently three minutes away from our exact location.
