Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Weight of the Romano Name
Across the city, the atmosphere inside the Romano estate was suffocatingly tense.
Marco stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his study, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. Outside, a torrential downpour had begun, streaks of rain blurring the city lights below. On the other end of the line, Sofia’s voice was uncharacteristically strained, raw with guilt and adrenaline.
"They were organized, Boss. It was a blind spot by the dumpsters. I fired two rounds into the rear tire, but they had a secondary vehicle block the alley exit. I lost them in the fog near the docks."
Marco didn't yell. He didn't smash the glass in his hand. The terrifying thing about Marco Romano was that the angrier he became, the quieter he grew. His eyes turned into chips of obsidian, his entire posture freezing into something predatory.
"Find the secondary vehicle," Marco said, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the room like a razor. "I want every camera on the riverfront pulled. Now."
He hung up the phone and turned around. The room was packed. Four of his top captains, along with a dozen of his most trusted men, stood by the door. The moment Marco faced them, the air left the room. They didn't need him to give an official order. They didn't need a speech about turf or pride.
They saw the look in his eyes and understood instantly: this wasn't a business dispute. This wasn't about tracking down a rival family or securing a shipment. This was personal. And a personal vendetta made Marco Romano the most dangerous man in the state.
"Get the cars," Marco commanded quietly.
"Boss," one of his older captains, a man named Lev, stepped forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "The docks are city property. The police have been sniffing around the north warehouses all week. If we roll in there with full force, we're inviting a massive headache."
Marco walked up to Lev, stopping mere inches away. The older man didn't flinch, but he held his breath.
"He took her," Marco said, the words heavy and absolute. "There is no headache big enough to keep me from tearing that place apart. If the police get in the way, buy them. If they don't move, go through them."
Lev stared into Marco’s eyes for two seconds before nodding firmly. "Understood. We move in five."
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By midnight, a convoy of six blacked-out SUVs cut through the torrential rain, moving toward the industrial district near the shipping yards. The headlights were extinguished, the engines purring like low thunders as they navigated the slick, abandoned streets. The city was sleeping, entirely unaware of the storm gathering near the water’s edge.
Marco sat in the back of the lead vehicle, his hands resting on his knees. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a heavy silver signet ring—his father's—and slid it onto his right hand. He looked out into the darkness, his jaw set. Aaron Price thought he was playing a game of hide-and-seek. He was about to find out what happened when you hunted in a wolf's territory.
