The storm had passed by the time Don Rocco Serra stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse suite in Harlem's tallest high-rise. Below, the city pulsed like a living thing, neon signs flickered against wet pavement, taxis weaved through midnight traffic, and somewhere deep in the underbelly of Brooklyn, ghosts were stirring.
He sipped his scotch slowly, letting it burn in his throat before exhaling through his nose. The glass in his hand was heavy, expensive, just like everything else in this life he'd carved from blood and betrayal.
Behind him, his right-hand man, Vince "The Hammer" Lanza, paced like a caged animal.
"They lost him," Vince growled. "Again."
Rocco didn't turn. He simply set his glass down on the polished mahogany bar and stared out at the skyline. "Who?"
"Marchetti," Vince spat. "And the kid. They vanished after the chapel."
A beat of silence.
Then Rocco finally turned, eyes cold as steel. "So Enzo's back in the game."
Vince nodded. "Looks like it."
Rocco exhaled slowly. "I should've killed him when I had the chance."
"You still can," Vince offered. "We track them down, put a bullet in both of them."
Rocco gave a dry chuckle. "No. That won't be enough."
Vince frowned. "You think they're coming for you?"
Rocco walked toward his desk, where a framed newspaper clipping sat beneath a thick pane of glass. The headline read:
"Anton Varga Presumed Dead – End of an Empire?"
He tapped the glass lightly with his knuckles. "It's not about what I think. It's about what Anton knew. And what he left behind."
Vince stepped closer. "You think the kid found the ledger?"
"I know he did," Rocco said. "And if he has that, he's got more than just names. He's got leverage."
Vince cursed under his breath. "That's bad."
Rocco smiled faintly. "Only if we let it be."
He moved to a wall safe, spun the dial with practiced ease, and pulled out a sleek black phone. No GPS, no signal trace. Only one number programmed into it.
He pressed send.
Two rings later, a voice answered.
"Yeah?"
"Marco," Rocco said smoothly. "I need your crew ready tonight."
There was a pause. "What are we doing?"
Rocco looked at Vince, then back out the window.
"We're going hunting."
He ended the call without another word.
Vince crossed his arms. "You really think Luca will come for you?"
Rocco poured himself another drink.
"He already is."
Outside, the city glowed like a battlefield waiting to ignite.
Inside, the wolf sharpened his claws.