Chapter 6 - The Rossi Ultimatum
Morning arrived with the harsh, unforgiving clarity of winter sunlight.
I woke up buried under a heavy down comforter, wrapped in Adrian’s arms. His chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath my cheek. For five glorious seconds, I forgot where I was. I forgot about the guns, the dead man on the bathroom floor, and the war brewing beyond the forest perimeter.
Then Adrian shifted, his arm tightening around my waist, his face burying into my hair.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
“I am,” I whispered, resting my hand over his scarred forearm. The black wolf tattoo seemed almost peaceful in the morning light.
Last night had changed everything. We were no longer an alliance of convenience. We had crossed an invisible threshold, and there was no turning back.
A sharp knock rattled the heavy oak door of the master bedroom.
Adrian was alert instantly. The warmth evaporated from his expression, replaced by his razor-sharp tactical focus. He pulled the sheet over me and reached for his sidearm on the nightstand.
“Speak,” he commanded.
“Boss, it’s Marco,” a voice called through the wood, tense and hurried. “Caterina is in the great room. And we received a package at the front gate. You need to see this immediately.”
Adrian’s jaw set. “Five minutes.”
He turned back to me, leaning down to press a firm, lingering kiss to my lips. “Stay here until I call for you.”
“Adrian,” I said, catching his wrist. “Be careful.”
A faint, genuine smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Always, little bird.”
***
Ten minutes later, dressed in a thick cream knit sweater and jeans, I walked down the spiral stone staircase into the great room of the safehouse.
The atmosphere was arctic.
Donna Caterina sat in a high-backed velvet armchair near the roaring fireplace, her silver cane resting between her knees. Marco and Lorenzo stood by the window, their faces grim.
On the central coffee table sat a wooden crate, roughly the size of a shoebox, lined with velvet.
Adrian stood over it, his hands braced against the table, his knuckles white.
“What is it?” I asked quietly, walking toward the group.
Nobody told me to leave. Donna Caterina merely looked up at me, her dark eyes hollow. “The Rossi family has sent their reply to your performance at the gala, child.”
I looked into the crate.
Inside, resting on a bed of dry ice, was a severed hand. On the ring finger sat a gold signet ring bearing an eagle—the crest of the Santoro family. And pinned to the severed wrist was a handwritten note scrawled in black ink.
My stomach heaved. I clamped a hand over my mouth, forcing down the bile rising in my throat.
“Isabella’s father,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm, but vibrating with a frequency that promised unspeakable violence. “The Santoro patriarch tried to back out of the alliance with Matteo after what happened at the gala. Matteo murdered him and sent us his hand.”
“Read the note, Adrian,” Caterina commanded coldly.
Adrian picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the words before he read them aloud:
*“To the King of Boston and his new whore:*
*You broke the balance of the Five Families. You rejected peace, and now you will choke on blood. The Santoro fleet is mine now. The docks belong to the Rossi syndicate. If you want Elena Brooks to live to see the spring, bring her to the North End Fish Pier at midnight on Friday. A life for a life. Her head for your empire. If you refuse, we burn Boston until there is nothing left for you to rule.”*
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“He’s baiting you,” Marco spoke up, stepping forward. “He knows we outgun him in open warfare. He wants to draw you into his territory, isolate you, and execute an ambush.”
“Of course it’s an ambush,” Caterina snapped, tapping her cane against the hearthstone. “Matteo is reckless, but he isn't stupid. He knows that as long as the Brooks girl lives, Adrian’s claim to the leadership cannot be contested by the council under the old laws. She is the anchor holding Adrian’s legitimacy together.”
She turned her piercing gaze on me.
“You did well at the gala, Elena,” Caterina said, her voice devoid of its earlier venom, replaced by a strange, grim respect. “You showed them teeth. But now, you are the lever they are using to crack open our empire.”
I looked at Adrian. He hadn't said a word. He was staring at the note, his face carved of granite.
“We aren't going to the docks,” I said suddenly.
Everyone in the room turned to look at me.
“Excuse me?” Marco said, blinking in surprise.
I stepped closer to the table, ignoring the grisly crate, and looked Adrian directly in the eyes.
“Matteo expects you to react like a mafia boss,” I said, my event planner’s brain kicking into overdrive. “He expects you to gather an army, show up at the docks with guns blazing, and try to overwhelm him with force. That’s what men like him understand. That’s what he’s preparing for.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of curiosity breaking through his icy rage. “What are you thinking, Elena?”
“I spent five years organizing events for the city’s most corrupt elites,” I said, my voice gaining strength with every word. “I know how the harbor works. I know who controls the permits, who moves the cargo, and who owns the customs officers. Matteo’s power isn't in his men; it’s in the Santoro shipping lines he just stole. If you cut his supply lines, his men won't fight for him. Mercenaries don't bleed for free.”
A slow, terrifying grin began to spread across Adrian’s face.
“She’s right,” Marco muttered, looking at Adrian. “The Santoro ships are docked at Terminal 4. They’re holding forty million dollars in contraband waiting to clear customs tonight.”
Adrian walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of me. He reached out, his warm, scarred hand cupping the side of my neck, his thumb resting against my pulse point.
“You truly are a queen, little bird,” he whispered, his eyes blazing with admiration and dangerous intent. “Matteo wants a meeting at midnight? We won't give him a battle.”
He looked over his shoulder at his men.
May you like
“Call the harbor captains. Tell them the Moretti family is seizing Terminal 4. And prepare the convoy. Tonight, we don't negotiate. We conquer.”
---