Chapter 7 - The Lion's Den
The Castiglione compound in upstate New York was surrounded by twelve-foot razor-wire fences, but it might as well have been made of paper against thirty heavily armed men driven by pure vengeance.
By three in the morning, the estate gates had been blown off their hinges by a targeted breaching charge. My convoy rolled through the wreckage, headlights blazing through the pouring rain.
There was no negotiation. There were no demands.
Marcoâs team eliminated the exterior guards in under four minutes. I walked through the front doors of the compound, my trench coat dripping wet, stepping over the fallen sentries without breaking stride.
Don Carmine Castiglione sat in his high-backed leather chair behind an ornate mahogany desk, his hands shaking as he desperately dialed numbers into a dead satellite phone. He was seventy years old, his hair white, his empire crumbling around him in a matter of minutes.
I kicked the phone out of his hand, shattering it against the wall.
"Lorenzo," Carmine wheezed, pressing himself back against his chair, his voice cracking with terror. "Listen to me... it was business. The port contracts... your father promised them to usâ"
"You blew up my pregnant wife on a public street," I said, resting both hands on the desk and leaning in close. "You put a hit on an innocent twenty-four-year-old girl and an infant who couldn't even lift his own head."
"I can give you everything," Carmine pleaded, tears mixing with the sweat running down his wrinkled face. "The accounts in Zurich, the real estate in Milan... fifty million dollars, Lorenzo! Just let me take a plane to Sicily. You'll never see me again!"
I drew my pistol, pressed the cold steel against his forehead, and looked straight into his dying eyes.
"Sophia sends her regards," I whispered.
May you like
A single gunshot silenced the room.
I turned on my heel and walked out of the office, sliding my weapon back into its holster. "Burn it down," I told Marco as we stepped into the rain. "Leave nothing standing."
