Chapter 7 - The Gathering Storm
While Leo established a perimeter command center in his third-floor study, I sat on the edge of the massive leather armchair in his private suite, staring out the bulletproof glass windows at the harbor below. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a thick, bruised dawn that painted the steel cranes of the shipping yards in shades of charcoal and rust.
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A soft knock rapped against the heavy mahogany door, followed immediately by the entry of Carmine. The veteran enforcer looked exhausted, his massive frame weighed down by a tactical vest and a holster bulging with extra magazines. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me sitting by the window in Leo's private quarters, a flicker of profound shock crossing his battered face.
"Ms. Mave," Carmine grunted, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I didn't realize... well, the boss said you were staying. Security protocols have been doubled on the eastern wing."
"Thank you, Carmine," I said quietly, keeping my voice steady. "How bad is the situation with Rostov?"
Carmine’s expression darkened into a grim line. He walked over and laid a tactical tablet on the oak table beside me. The screen displayed real-time satellite imagery of the southern shipping docks. "Rostov isn't acting alone. Intercepted radio chatter from the Bratva indicates they’ve brought in a high-level enforcer from Brighton Beach—a cleaner named Gregor. They aren't just looking for territory anymore, Mave. They know Leo cares about you. That makes you a tactical vulnerability in their eyes."
My breath hitched in my throat. I looked at the screen, watching the red dots representing hostile units moving along the perimeter lines. "They want to use me to break him."
"They're going to try," Carmine said bluntly, his eyes meeting mine with grim respect. "Which is why nobody leaves this estate. Not for groceries, not for fresh air. Nobody."
Before I could reply, the door to the study connected to the suite swung open. Leo walked out, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, his forearms corded with muscle and laced with old, jagged scars from past turf wars. He took one look at Carmine and the tactical tablet, and the temperature in the room instantly dropped.
"Leave us, Carmine," Leo ordered, his voice like grinding stones.
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"Boss," Carmine hesitated, casting a protective glance my way. "Gregor’s crew was spotted moving three vans into the industrial warehouse district forty minutes ago. They're mobilizing."
"Let them mobilize," Leo replied coldly, his dark eyes locking onto the tablet screen before snapping back to his enforcer. "Double the snipers on the roof. If anyone crosses the iron gates without my explicit authorization, don't give them a warning shot."
