Chapter 6 - Unholy Alliances
Alexander landed at Miami International on a commercial flight, wearing an unbranded black shirt and jeans, stripped of his entourage, his weapons, and his syndicate swagger. He had never felt so utterly powerless.
A black town car picked him up at the terminal and drove him straight to the Sterling private marina. There, moored against the wooden dock under the blazing afternoon sun, sat a 200-foot mega-yacht named The St. Claire.
Dominic Vance stood on the gangway, frisking Alexander with brisk, insulting efficiency.
"Clean," Dominic reported into his earpiece, shoving Alexander forward. "Up the stairs. The boss is waiting."
Alexander ascended to the upper deck. The sea breeze whipped across the teak flooring. Sitting around a shaded glass dining table were three people: Victor Sterling, myself, and—to Alexander’s absolute shock—Don Carmine Rossi, the legendary, terrifying don of the New York Five Families.
Alexander froze, his jaw dropping. "Don Carmine?"
The old New York don, an imposing seventy-year-old man with silver hair and an aura of quiet menace, looked up from his espresso. Carmine looked at Alexander with sheer disgust.
"Sit down, Alexander," Don Carmine growled, gesturing toward an empty steel chair. "Before I have Dominic toss your worthless carcass into the Atlantic."
Alexander slowly took a seat, his eyes frantically darting to me. I sat clad in a white linen blazer, looking at him as if he were a stranger on the subway.
"What is this?" Alexander whispered.
"This is the end of your father's reign," I answered plainly. "While you were crying in Chicago, Don Carmine and I had a very productive conversation."
"You went behind my back to the Rossis?" Alexander asked, hurt flashing in his eyes.
"Your father went behind everyone's back, boy," Don Carmine interrupted, slamming his heavy hand on the table. "Richard Moretti came to me five years ago, claiming you were sterile and that he needed a surrogate grandchild through Sophia to maintain the New York-Chicago treaty. Then he told me Claire was an undercover federal plant sent to dismantle our logistics network!"
Alexander turned pale. "What? That’s impossible! Claire was a civilian!"
"Your father orchestrated the entire rift between you and Sophia," Victor Sterling added, his voice low and dangerous. "Richard wanted full control of the combined syndicates. He planned to use Noah's cord blood to save Maya, frame Claire for leaking cartel data, have Claire murdered in transit, and force you into a political marriage with Sophia under the Rossi banner. You were just a pawn in your father's dementia-driven power grab, Alexander."
Alexander dropped his head into his hands, trembling violently. The betrayal ran deeper than he could have ever imagined. His own father had orchestrated the destruction of his marriage, had plotted the murder of the only woman he truly loved, all for lines on a map.
"Where is the cord blood?" Alexander whispered, looking at me with pleading, broken eyes. "Claire, Maya is innocent. Don't let her die for my father's sins."
I motioned to Dominic, who placed a heavy stainless-steel cryogenic transport case on the table. Inside were Noah’s cord blood stem cells, perfectly preserved and verified by independent laboratory seals.
"The cure is right here," I said softly. "Don Carmine’s private medical jet is waiting to take it to Mount Sinai Hospital in New York. Maya will have her transplant tonight."
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Don Carmine stood up, placing a hand on my shoulder with genuine gratitude. "You are an exceptional woman, Claire Sterling. The Rossi family owes you a life debt. As for Richard Moretti..." Carmine turned his cold gaze onto Alexander. "His days in New York and Chicago are finished."
Carmine signaled his men, took the case, and walked down the gangway, leaving Alexander alone with me and my father.
