Chapter 22 - The Shadow of Montreal
The silver medallion sat on the polished mahogany desk like a coiled reptile ready to strike. I stared at the viper, the cold silver catching the red light of the setting sun. Luca didn't touch it. He stood perfectly still, his eyes narrowed into lethal slits as he studied the handwritten note.
"Matteo was always the most sadistic of the Moretti brothers," Luca said, his voice dropping into that chilling, icy register that once commanded fear from Brooklyn to Manhattan. "Salvatore was greedy, Dominic was arrogant, but Matteo was purely malicious. When your grandfather exiled him, he locked three of his own cousins in a burning warehouse just to prove a point. He has no interest in running shipping lanes or trading commercial bonds. He wants retribution."
"He calls me a bastard daughter," I said, my voice shaking slightly, though anger was fast replacing the initial surge of fear. "He thinks because my father chose a normal life, our blood doesn't count. He thinks he can intimidate me with a piece of tarnished silver."
"He doesn't want to intimidate you, Elena," Marcus warned, stepping forward and opening a tablet to display surveillance footage from the gate. "He’s probing our security. The car had fake consular plates registered to a shell company in Quebec. By the time our perimeter drones tracked it to the highway, the driver had switched vehicles at an abandoned gas station in Yonkers. This wasn't an amateur move. This was professional military reconnaissance."
Luca walked over to me, wrapping his arm firmly around my waist and pulling me flush against his side. The warmth of his body anchored me, cutting through the sudden chill in the room. "We cancel the winter gala at the Metropolitan Museum. We move the foundation’s annual charity dinner to the estate where our perimeter defenses are impenetrable."
"No," I said immediately, looking directly into his eyes. "We do not run, Luca."
Luca frowned, his jaw tightening. "Elena, this isn't about running. It’s about operational control. At the estate, I have twenty armed men, encrypted sensors, and reinforced fallback shelters. At the Met, you are surrounded by four hundred civilians, politicians, and donors. You would be an open target."
"If we cancel the gala, Matteo wins the first round without firing a single shot," I countered, resting my hand against his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thud of his heart. "The entire city is watching this event. The mayor, the state attorney general, and every donor who believed in our transition from darkness to light will be there. If we hide behind bulletproof glass the second an old ghost sends a letter, it tells the world that the Rossi name is still ruled by fear. We go to the gala. We hold our heads high. And we let your security team handle whatever rat comes out of the cellar."
Luca stared at me for several heartbeats, his gaze shifting from stern authority to deep, profound admiration. A faint, dangerous smirk touched the corner of his scarred lips.
"You have David’s stubbornness and your mother’s courage," Luca murmured, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb tracing the soft skin behind my ear. "It makes you entirely impossible to protect."
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"I don't need you to lock me in an iron tower, Luca," I smiled, leaning up on my toes to press a firm, defiant kiss to his lips. "I need you to stand beside me while we tear down the monsters together."
"Marcus," Luca commanded without taking his eyes off me, his arm tightening around my waist with possessive fury. "Contact the federal task force. Coordinate with Director Vance. Double the security detail at the museum with plainclothes tactical units. If Matteo Moretti wants a reunion with his niece, we will give him an audience he will never survive."
