8:30 a.m. I drove alone toward Red Hook.
I wanted the time to think, to prepare mentally. To become the man who could walk into Viktor's trap and walk back out; the cold, ruthless man I’d been before Paola was wedged into my life.
The city woke around me. Morning commuters on the FDR. Coffee shops opening in the East Village. Normal people living normal lives, unaware of the war being waged in the shadows between skyscrapers.
I thought about the baby. My child. Growing in Paola's belly right now, cells dividing, heart forming, completely unaware that their father might die before they took their first breath.
A son? A daughter? Would they have my dark hair or her green eyes? My violence or her warmth?
Would I live to find out?
I'd faced death before. Occupational hazard of being a Don. Bullets, blades, bombs—I'd survived them all through a combination of skill, strategy, and ruthless efficiency.
But this felt different. I had more to lose now. Paola. The baby. A future I hadn't known I wanted until it became real and precious and fragile.
My phone buzzed. Piero's number, but not Piero's voice.
"Good morning, Cesare." Viktor sounded pleased with himself. "Just confirming you're on your way. Alone."
"I'm coming. Alone. As demanded."
"Excellent. See you at 9. Don't be late. And Cesare? I'll be watching the roads. If I see any vehicles following you, any sign of backup—well, you know what happens."
The line went dead.
I checked my rearview. My team was keeping distance—far enough to stay invisible, close enough to respond when needed.
If Viktor's surveillance was as good as he claimed, we'd know soon enough.
8:45 a.m., Red Hook's Pier 76.
An industrial wasteland of abandoned warehouses with broken windows and peeling paint. Rusted shipping containers stacked like children's blocks. The East River's smell—salt and diesel and decay.
Viktor had chosen well. Isolated with multiple escape routes and hard to approach unseen. I parked where instructed—the center of the pier, exposed, nowhere to hide.
Viktor's men positioned themselves around the perimeter. At least eight visible. Probably more hidden in the warehouses, behind containers, in boats on the water.
And in the center: Viktor himself, standing next to a metal chair where Piero slumped, barely conscious.
Even from here, I could see the damage. My brother's face was a mess of bruises and blood. One eye swollen shut. Head hanging forward like he didn't have the strength to hold it up.
Rage flooded through me, hot and immediate and dangerous. I forced it down. Locked it away. Emotion was weakness. I needed to be cold. Calculating. Perfect.
I grabbed the briefcase with the fake documents, stepped out of the car.
Morning sun glinted off the water. It was a beautiful day for a betrayal.
Every step toward Viktor felt like walking to my execution.
I was hyperaware of everything: Viktor's men tracking me with weapons, their fingers on triggers. The fishing boats in the distance—my extraction team, invisible to Viktor but present. The weight of my watch on my wrist, the signal device that would trigger the rescue.
Viktor's smile widened as I approached. "Cesare. Punctual as always. And alone, I see. Smart."
"Let me see him." I nodded toward Piero.
"Of course." Viktor stepped aside with exaggerated courtesy.
Piero looked up. Blood crusted on his face and neck, but he was alive. Conscious enough to recognize me.
