Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD ON THE TARMAC
The rain fell in blinding sheets over the private terminal tarmac.
Two black Suburbans stood parked thirty yards from the staircase of the aircraft, their high beams cutting through the dark like blinding yellow knives. Eight men in heavy raincoats stood beside the vehicles, holding suppressed automatic weapons, their faces hidden behind dark tactical masks.
Standing in the middle of them, holding a black umbrella, was Julian Ross.
He looked older, his face gaunt, his silver hair plastered against his forehead by the wind. But his eyes were filled with the same manic, greedy madness that had destroyed his family six years ago.
I walked down the metal stairs of the plane slowly, my hands in the pockets of my tailored trousers, my shirt collar open against the rain. I didn't rush. I didn't reach for a weapon. I walked like a king entering his own court.
Behind me, from the darkness behind the neighboring hangars, six of my private security vehicles glided into position, blocking the runway exits, their heavy bumpers surrounding Ross’s men in a iron circle.
Julian Ross smirked, taking a step forward. "Luca. It’s been a long time."
"Not long enough, Julian," I said, stopping ten feet from him, the rain soaking my hair and suit. "You're standing on my tarmac."
"I don't care about your tarmac, Moretti," Ross spat, his voice sharp against the sound of the storm. "I want the girl. And I want the Red Hook deeds. Hand them over, and I'll let you walk back to your empty penthouse."
I let out a low, dark laugh that made the armed men beside Ross shift uncomfortably on their feet.
"You think you're talking to the man I was six years ago, Julian?" I asked softly. "Six years ago, I was grieving. I was broken. I thought I had nothing left to lose."
I took one slow, deliberate step toward him.
"Now I know my daughter is alive," I growled, my voice echoing across the concrete like thunder. "And every second you breathe her air is an insult to my existence."
Ross’s eyes widened with sudden panic. "Kill him!"
POW! POW! POW!
Before Ross’s men could raise their weapons, Marcus and eight concealed snipers positioned on the hangar roof fired with terrifying, synchronized precision.
The rain seemed to explode into red mist. Six of Ross’s mercenaries collapsed instantly onto the wet asphalt, their weapons clattering uselessly against the stone.
The remaining two men dropped their guns, raising their hands in absolute terror as my security team swarmed them, slamming them face-first onto the hood of the SUV.
Julian Ross stumbled backward, dropping his umbrella into a puddle, his face drained of all color as I stepped through the rain and grabbed him by the throat.
I lifted his five-foot-ten frame six inches off the ground, my fingers digging into his windpipe with crushing force.
"Luca... please..." Ross choked out, his eyes bulging as he clawed at my wrists. "We... we can make a deal..."
"There are no deals for men who threaten my blood, Julian," I whispered into his ear, my voice devoid of any human warmth. "You will hand over every document, every file, and every name involved in tracking my family. And then you will disappear into a maximum-security federal facility for the rest of your natural life."
I slammed him hard onto the hood of the vehicle. Marcus stepped forward instantly, slapping heavy steel handcuffs over Ross’s wrists.
"Take him to the basement facility in Brooklyn," I commanded Marcus without looking back. "I want full depositions by dawn."
"Yes, Boss," Marcus nodded, dragging the screaming, weeping man away into the rain.
May you like
I turned back toward the rear service staircase where Clara stood behind the bulletproof glass of the armored sedan, holding our daughter close to her heart.
I wiped the rain from my face, adjusted my wet suit jacket, and walked toward the only thing that mattered in this world.
