Chapter 9 - The Steel Trap Closes
At Moretti's command, his thirty men drew their weapons in unison, the harsh metallic click of slides chambering rounds echoing through the cavernous space.
Marcus and our six remaining bodyguards instantly formed a protective wedge in front of Luca and me, their weapons raised. We were outnumbered five to one.
"Elena, step behind me," Luca ordered, his voice low, steady, and utterly fearless. He didn't reach for his gun; he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black remote control with a single illuminated green switch.
"What is that?" Moretti mocked, gesturing with his cane. "A panic button for the police? The NYPD won't cross this precinct line for an hour, boy!"
"I don't call the police, Salvatore," Luca said softly. "I bought this warehouse six months ago under a shell company. Did you honestly believe I would agree to a sit-down in a location I hadn't prepared for my own funeral?"
Luca pressed the switch.
Heavy steel blast doors slammed shut over all four vehicle exits with a deafening, earth-shaking crash, cutting off all natural light. High-powered floodlights mounted along the ceiling snapped on, blinding Moretti’s men with searing white illumination.
From the steel catwalks forty feet above our heads, fifty heavily armed operators dressed in black tactical gear stepped forward, their assault rifles pointed directly down at Moretti’s encircled men.
"Drop your weapons!" Marcus roared through a megaphone.
Moretti’s lieutenants looked up at the overwhelming firepower raining down on them from above. They knew they were trapped in a steel kill box. One by one, weapons hit the concrete floor with dull clatters of surrender.
"You arrogant little bastard!" Moretti choked out, leaning heavily on his cane, his face turning purple with impotent rage.
Luca stepped past Marcus, walking slowly toward the trembling old man. He stopped two feet away, looking down with chilling detachment. "You murdered David because he wanted a clean life. You hunted his daughter because you couldn't stand the thought of an honest person inheriting what your grandfather built. Your time in this city is finished, Salvatore."
May you like
Luca turned his gaze to Mrs. Ferrara, who was trembling violently against the table, her face drained of all color.
"Take her to the federal prosecutor's office," Luca instructed Marcus. "Hand over the wiretap recordings of her selling syndicate secrets to Moretti. Let the federal penitentiary deal with traitors."
