Chapter 9 - The Ransom
"What do you want?" Julian demanded, gripping the marble countertop so hard his knuckles turned white.
"My father wants the waterfront territory," Victoria said smoothly. "All of it. You sign the union contracts over to Sterling Enterprises. And you make a public apology to my family in the press. You have three hours. If the paperwork isn't signed, I’ll pour boiling oil on her next."
The line went dead.
Julian stared at the phone. He didn't smash it. He didn't yell. He turned to Dante, who was already tracking the call's digital ping.
"Burner phone," Dante said, typing furiously on his tablet. "But it pinged off a cell tower in the Meatpacking District. There’s an old abandoned slaughterhouse owned by a Sterling shell company near 14th street."
"Suit up," Julian said, walking toward the armory.
He strapped a Kevlar vest over his dress shirt, sliding spare magazines into his tactical belt. He grabbed a Benelli M4 shotgun, racking a shell into the chamber.
Dante watched his boss prepare for war. Julian Rossi was a strategic man, a man who fought in boardrooms and shadows. But today, he was fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose.
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"Julian," Dante said quietly. "If you do this, there is no going back to legitimacy. The feds will be on us."
"I don't care," Julian said, his voice deadly calm. "I don't care if I have to burn the entire city to the ground. No one takes what is mine."
