Chapter 6 - The Dragon Awakens
The temperature in the grand ballroom seemed to drop twenty degrees.
Adrian Moretti’s face drained of every trace of color, replaced by a mask of such terrifying, murderous rage that even Marcus stepped back half a step. The ambient noise of the ballroom instantly died as the heavy, palpable aura of a mob boss reawakened from a three-year slumber filled the room.
“Toby...” Emily whispered, her breath catching in her throat, her maternal instincts flashing into absolute, razor-sharp panic. She reached for the ruined inhaler, her hands trembling violently. “That’s... that’s his emergency backup. It was left in my locker in the staff breakroom.”
Adrian didn't speak. He didn't need to.
He slowly pressed a button on his wheelchair console, and his chair spun around to face table one, where Senator Vance and three prominent Wall Street executives were whispering behind their napkins.
“Marcus,” Adrian’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it echoed with crystal clarity through the high-vaulted ceiling of the ballroom.
“Boss.”
“Call the tactical transport units. Notify the harbor master in Brooklyn. I want every single shipping container belonging to Cross Logistics seized by midnight. And clear out the entire upper east side penthouse—my wife and her son are moving into Moretti Tower tonight.”
Senator Vance turned pale, standing up abruptly. “Now hold on just a minute, Adrian! You can't start a private war in the middle of Manhattan just because of some—some domestic prank!”
Adrian rolled his wheelchair forward, the carbon-fiber wheels clicking rhythmically against the polished parquet floor. He stopped directly in front of Senator Vance’s table, looking up at the terrified politician with eyes like obsidian shards.
“Prank, Arthur?” Adrian’s voice was dangerously smooth. “Damien Cross just threatened my son. That isn't a prank. That is a death sentence for the Cross syndicate.”
“You’re paralyzed, Moretti!” Vance shouted, losing his composure in front of the horrified guests. “You’re stuck in a chair! You think you can take on Damien’s cartel alone?”
Adrian slowly raised his right hand, snapping his fingers once.
From the shadows of the double doors, twelve heavily armed men in unmarked tactical gear marched into the ballroom, automatic weapons held at ready, completely surrounding table one.
“I may be in a chair, Arthur,” Adrian said softly, a chilling smile touching his lips. “But my empire has legs. And right now, they’re marching straight toward Damien Cross’s front door.”
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He turned his wheelchair around, extending his hand to Emily.
“Come, Mrs. Moretti,” Adrian said, his voice softening into absolute warmth as he looked at his new bride. “Let’s go home and bring our boy home where he belongs.”
