Chapter 4 - THE WAR OF THE DOCKS
By sunrise, the storm had cleared, leaving New York wrapped in a bitter, freezing fog.
The Moretti estate had transformed completely into a military fortress. Tactical units in unmarked black vehicles patrolled the long winding driveway. Armed guards with high-powered rifles stood watch on the rooftops, and armored SUVs were lined up along the grand courtyard, engines idling in the cold morning air.
In the command center—a high-tech surveillance room located beneath the west wing—Damiano stood before a wall of monitors displaying live feeds from the docks, the shipping warehouses, and the city entrances. Marco sat at a console, his fingers flying across a keyboard as intelligence reports poured in from across the East Coast.
Sophia walked down the metal stairs carrying a mug of hot coffee. She was dressed in a sleek charcoal wool sweater and dark trousers provided by Damiano’s personal stylist—a far cry from her old maid’s uniform. She had spent the last two hours ensuring Emma was settled in the upper playroom under the watchful eye of four elite guards.
"You should sleep," Sophia said, setting the mug on the console beside Damiano. "You've been down here since three in the morning."
Damiano picked up the mug, taking a sip without turning his gaze from the monitors. "Chicago hit our secondary distribution hub in Queens forty minutes ago. Two warehouses burned. Three of my men are in the hospital."
Sophia’s chest tightened. "Was anyone killed?"
"No," Damiano replied grimly. "They were smart. They hit the buildings with incendiary drones and pulled back before my tactical teams arrived. It’s a message from Don Valenti. He wants me to know he still has reach in New York."
"Boss!" Marco interrupted, tapping his screen urgently. "We have a secure comms request from Chicago. It's coming through Don Valenti's private line."
Damiano’s expression didn't change. "Put it on the main speaker."
The room went quiet as a static click echoed through the heavy speakers, followed by the deep, raspy voice of Don Vito Valenti.
"Damiano," the old man’s voice echoed, cold and devoid of remorse. "You have my daughter. You have my trade clearances in Brooklyn. You think you've won because you caught a slip-up in your own house?"
Damiano walked closer to the speaker, his voice smooth and deadly. "Vito. I hope you're enjoying your morning espresso. It will be the last one you drink as a free man."
A dry, harsh chuckle came over the line. "You're young, Damiano. You think blood and firepower win wars. But you forgot one thing—my daughter wasn't the only person working inside your estate."
Sophia froze, her eyes snapping to Damiano.
"Check your perimeter feeds, Moretti," Valenti spat. "You claimed a maid and her little bastard child last night. You made them your weakness. Did you really think I wouldn't find out where that child was born?"
Damiano’s eyes narrowed into slits. "What are you talking about?"
"The girl's father," Valenti said, his tone dripping with malice. "David Bellini. You thought he died in a dock accident three years ago, didn't you, Sophia? Check your camera three, Damiano."
Marco’s fingers flew across the keyboard, bringing feed three onto the central large monitor.
The screen displayed the southern gate of the estate. Standing in the fog outside the heavy iron bars was a man in a tactical jacket, his face scarred, his eyes bloodshot, clutching an assault rifle. Beside him stood a dozen heavily armed Chicago enforcers.
Sophia let out a horrified gasp, clutching her throat. Her knees buckled, and she would have hit the floor if Damiano’s arm hadn't shot out, catching her around the waist and holding her firmly against his side.
"David..." Sophia choked out, tears instantly filling her eyes. "No... no, he died! I identified his body at the morgue three years ago!"
"He didn't die, my dear," Valenti’s voice boomed over the speakers. "He was recruited. He worked for Chicago all along. He was placed in the Moretti docks to gather intelligence. His 'death' was faked so he could slip into the shadows when he got caught stealing payroll. And now, he's come back to claim his family."
On the monitor, the man named David Bellini stepped closer to the security camera, pointing his weapon directly at the lens.
"Sophia!" David’s voice came through the gate intercom, distorted and harsh. "Bring Emma to the gate! Hand her over to Chicago, and Moretti lives! Keep her inside, and we tear this mansion down brick by brick!"
The command room fell into a suffocating silence.
Sophia was shaking violently against Damiano’s frame. The world seemed to be collapsing around her once more. Her dead husband—the man she had grieved for three long years, the father of her child—was alive, working for the very monsters who had tried to blow up her daughter.
Damiano leaned down slightly, his lips resting near Sophia’s ear. "Is that your husband?" he asked, his tone deceptively quiet.
"I... I thought it was," Sophia sobbed, staring at the monitor in utter horror. "He... he was never a good man, Damiano. He was violent, he had gambling debts... but I thought he was gone! I didn't know!"
Damiano straightened his back. He looked back toward the main speaker.
"Vito," Damiano spoke into the microphone, his voice so cold it seemed to freeze the very air in the room. "You brought a dead man to my doorstep and thought he would make me bow?"
"He is the girl's biological father, Moretti!" Valenti sneered. "The legal courts, the blood laws of the families—everything says a child belongs to her father! You have no legal or moral right to keep them!"
Damiano let out a short, terrifying laugh.
"In my territory," Damiano said, "the only law that exists is mine. David Bellini abandoned his blood three years ago. He left his wife to scrub my floors to pay off his debts. He is not a father. He is a target."
Damiano hit the button on the console, cutting the comms line instantly. He turned to Marco.
"Mobilize Alpha team," Damiano commanded. "Surround the south gate. Do not take David Bellini alive."
"Wait!" Sophia cried out, grabbing Damiano’s arm with both hands.
Damiano stopped, looking down at her. "He is a threat to Emma, Sophia. He will use her as a human shield against Chicago's enemies. I cannot let him walk away."
"I know," Sophia wept, her eyes blazing with a mix of grief and absolute resolve. "I don't want you to let him walk away. I want to come with you."
Damiano stared at her for a moment, surprised by the fire in her voice. "Sophia, it's a war zone down there."
"He was my husband," Sophia said, wiping the tears from her cheeks, her voice turning as solid as rock. "He abandoned my daughter. He left us to starve. I want him to see who I belong to now before he dies."
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Damiano’s grey eyes flared with a dark, primal pride. He reached out, holding the back of her neck gently, his thumb caressing her jaw line.
"Get her a bulletproof vest," Damiano ordered Marco. "And bring my shotgun."
