Chapter 1 - The Bloodhound's Scent
Vincent Romano stood inside the dimly lit surveillance hub, the cold blue glow of twenty monitors reflecting against the sharp planes of his face.
On the main central screen, the digital audit trail ended squarely inside the administrative terminal of his first cousin, Anthony Romano.
Every single override had been authorized using Anthony’s private encryption key.
"Boss," Marcus Valente whispered, stepping up behind Vincent with his phone pressed to his ear. "Our perimeter team stationed near Maria Alvarez's residential unit just lost radio contact."
Vincent’s dark eyes flared with lethal fury.
He didn't hesitate. He pulled his customized black steel sidearm from beneath his tailored jacket and checked the slide chamber with a sharp, metallic click.
"Get three assault teams into armored sedans right now," Vincent commanded, his deep baritone rumbling through the room like thunder. "If a single hair on that little girl's head is touched, every man on that block dies tonight."
Thirty seconds later, four black luxury sedans roared out of the Romano estate gates, tires screeching against the wet asphalt as rain swept across the city.
Inside the rear cabin of the lead vehicle, Vincent stared out into the darkness, his mind running through the horrific possibilities.
Sophie Alvarez was only seven years old.
She had clutched her worn stuffed rabbit and spoken up when every grown man in his organization had failed to notice the trap beneath his vehicle. She had stepped between him and a fiery grave on the waterfront approach road.
And in doing so, she had painted a massive red target onto her own mother’s back.
Peter Sloan was a ghost who specialized in eliminating witnesses.
If Sloan had bypassed the exterior surveillance perimeter at the maids' staff quarters, it meant Anthony had provided him with the master service elevator codes.
The convoy tore through a red light at the industrial junction, sirens wailing through the foggy night.
Marcus checked his tactical tactical tablet, cursing under his breath. "The emergency transponder on Maria's security badge just triggered, boss. It's inside the underground laundry facility behind the south gardens."
"Step on the gas," Vincent ordered, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy calm that made even his top captains shudder.
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He gripped the handle of his weapon so tightly his knuckles turned bone white.
Salvatore Viscari thought this war was about dock warehouses and international shipping routes. He was about to learn that when you threaten an innocent child under the Romano roof, the war becomes personal.
