Chapter 7 - The Wolf Unleashed
When Dominic Russo’s black armored Maybach tore through the iron gates of the Long Island estate, the front security checkpoint was a smoking ruin.
Two of his trusted guards lay dead on the gravel, their weapons discharged.
Dominic didn't scream. He didn't curse.
He stepped out of the car into the cool night air, his face carved from absolute, frozen granite. His slate-gray eyes scanned the carnage, his mind calculating the tactical layout of the breach with the cold precision of a general commanding an army.
Marcus sprinted out from the shattered front doors, his shoulder bleeding from a graze wound, his face pale with horror.
“Boss... they hit the nursery. It was an inside leak. They knew the shift rotation,” Marcus reported, his voice cracking with fury and guilt. “They took Leo. And they took Miss Gallagher.”
Dominic stood frozen for a single, terrifying heartbeat.
The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. The aura of absolute, lethal violence radiating from his six-foot-two frame made even his hardened enforcers step back instinctively.
“Who?” Dominic whispered. His voice was no longer human. It was the sound of grinding tectonic plates.
“Salvatore Moretti,” Marcus said grimly. “He’s holding them at the abandoned Domino Sugar refinery yard on the East River waterfront.”
Dominic turned back to his car, pulled his Sig Sauer P226 from his shoulder holster, and checked the magazine with a sharp, metallic clack.
“Assemble every available man,” Dominic ordered, his voice echoing across the smoking courtyard like a death sentence. “Tell the capos, the enforcers, and every asset we have in the five boroughs: Tonight, the Moretti family ceases to exist.”
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Within twenty minutes, a convoy of twelve black SUVs roared out of the estate gates, heading toward the city like an armored juggernaut.
The Wolf of Brooklyn was out for blood, and nothing on God’s green earth was going to stop him from reclaiming what was his.
