"Uncle."
"Salvatore called me." His voice is cold, controlled. The voice he uses when he's furious but won't show it. "He says you're going into Brighton Beach."
"Yes."
"That's Bratva territory, Luca. You go in there with guns blazing, you're declaring war. Not just on them. On everyone who has agreements with them. The Commission will get involved."
"I don't care about the Commission."
"You should. They'll demand your head for breaking the peace."
"They can try to take it." I walk to the elevator, press the button. The doors open and I step inside, ignoring the scorchmarks on the walls. "The Bratva took something of mine. I'm taking it back."
"The woman." It's not a question. "You're starting a war over a woman. I warned you about this." There’s a pause before Don Marco's voice comes back, quieter. More dangerous. "You're willing to burn everything for her."
"Yes." The elevator descends, floor numbers ticking down. "She's mine. They touched what's mine. There's only one response to that."
"Luca, listen to me. You go in there and the Bratva will retaliate against all of us. Not just you. The whole family. Every soldier, every operation. This isn't just about you anymore."
"I know."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Yes."
Another pause. I can hear him breathing on the other end, can picture him in his office at the social club, weighing options, calculating costs.
"How many men do you need?" he asks finally.
"Our best soldiers. As many as you can spare."
"You'll have them. But Luca, when this is over, you and I are going to have a conversation about what you've cost us."
"I'll be there. After I get her back."
I hang up as the elevator reaches the ground floor.
Sal is waiting outside with a black SUV, engine running. He takes one look at my head and tosses me a towel.
"You're still bleeding."
I press the towel to my skull, feel the wet warmth soak through. Probably a concussion. Maybe worse. "Building layout?"
"Joey owes me a favor from when we handled that union thing. His cousin works for the city—building inspections. He pulled the records." Sal hands me his phone showing a scannedblueprint. "A single story warehouse, concrete construction, metal roof. Two entrances—front and loading dock in back. Both with reinforced steel doors. Skylights on the roof, no ground-level windows."
"Exits?"
"The same two doors. The loading dock has an exterior pad lock, probably chained from the inside too."
"Defenses?"
"Unknown. But if they're smart, they've got lookouts and firing positions set up inside."
I study the blueprint, already planning the assault. Overwhelming force. No subtlety. I'm walking through the front door and killing everyone between me and Francesca.
"How many Bratva you think are in there?" Sal asks.
"Doesn't matter."
