Chapter 7 - THE COLOMBO WAR
Vincent Colombo had thirty-two active crews.
By sunrise, seven abandoned him.
Not because they loved me.
Because kidnapping a child crossed a line even criminals understood.
The old underworld had rules.
Ugly rules.
Hypocritical rules.
But children were supposed to remain outside.
Vincent broke that.
I used it.
From my hospital room, I made calls.
Angelo Russo.
Frankie Bellandi.
Victor Vescovi.
Every family leader who had daughters, sons, grandchildren.
I told them one thing.
“Today it was Sofia.”
I didn’t need to finish.
By evening, Colombo safe houses began emptying.
Banks froze accounts.
Suppliers stopped answering.
Three captains disappeared.
Two came to me.
One brought information.
“Vincent has a second command site.”
“Where?”
“An old printing factory in Newark.”
New Jersey.
Outside the immediate reach of our usual networks.
Smart.
“Is he there?”
“Maybe.”
I looked at Marco.
“Maybe means trap.”
“Probably.”
“Good.”
Elena overheard.
“No.”
I sighed.
“I’m having a medical conversation.”
“You’re planning an assault.”
“Quietly.”
“Dominic.”
I looked at her.
She crossed her arms.
“You were shot yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“You are not going.”
“I’m not.”
She relaxed slightly.
“Marco is.”
She looked at him.
Marco smiled.
“Sorry.”
The Newark raid happened without me.
I hated every minute.
Elena stayed in my hospital room.
Sofia colored pictures on the floor.
At 2:13 a.m., Marco called.
“Factory empty.”
I swore.
“But we found something.”
“What?”
“Vincent’s financial ledgers.”
Useful.
“Anything else?”
“Photos.”
My stomach tightened.
“Of?”
“Elena. Sofia. You.”
Elena heard.
Her face went pale.
“From how long?”
Marco answered.
“Months.”
Someone had watched my mansion.
Nursery.
Restaurants.
Parks.
Every place Sofia had been.
Then Marco found a photograph that changed everything.
Carlo meeting Vincent.
Not Salvatore.
Carlo.
Three weeks before the kidnapping.
I stared at the image.
Elena whispered:
“He saved us.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he was undercover.”
“Maybe.”
But this was the problem with betrayal.
Once trust broke, every explanation sounded like another lie.
Carlo was being held at a Moretti property.
I ordered him brought to the hospital.
He looked exhausted when he entered.
I threw the photograph onto the table.
“Explain.”
Carlo looked.
Then sighed.
“I wondered when that would appear.”
“Bad answer.”
“I met Vincent.”
“Why?”
“To learn what my father promised him.”
“You told nobody.”
“I told Marco’s intelligence man.”
Marco frowned.
“Who?”
“Anthony DeSantis.”
Silence.
Anthony.
My security intelligence coordinator.
One of the four people originally reviewing nursery vulnerabilities before Niko finalized the route.
I looked at Marco.
“Where is Anthony?”
Marco pulled out his phone.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Carlo continued:
“Anthony approached me eight months ago. Said he suspected Father was planning something.”
“And you trusted him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He gave me proof.”
“Maybe he created it.”
Carlo’s face changed.
He understood.
We searched Anthony’s accounts.
Hidden property.
Cash.
A sister living in Florida receiving unexplained payments from Colombo shell companies.
The mole closer than Niko.
The man feeding Salvatore just enough information to encourage rebellion.
Feeding Colombo security details.
Playing everyone.
“Why?” Elena asked.
“Money.”
I shook my head.
“Too simple.”
Then Marco found Anthony’s birth records.
His mother’s maiden name.
Colombo.
Vincent’s cousin.
Anthony DeSantis had worked inside my organization for nine years.
He had been planted long before Sofia.
Long before Elena.
Long before Salvatore’s rebellion.
Vincent had been waiting.
“Where would he go?” Marco asked.
Carlo answered immediately.
“The mansion.”
“Why?”
“Archives.”
Anthony knew we kept old records in a reinforced basement vault.
Territory agreements.
Family intelligence.
Names.
Payments.
Evidence capable of destroying half the underworld.
If Vincent got those files, he could blackmail every major organization in the city.
Salvatore’s coup was distraction.
The kidnapping was leverage.
The real target might always have been the Moretti archive.
I tried to stand.
Elena physically pushed me back.
“Absolutely not.”
“I need to go.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“You can barely lift your left arm.”
“I don’t need my left arm.”
She stared.
“Are you hearing yourself?”
Marco spoke.
“I’ll handle it.”
I looked at him.
“Take Carlo.”
Carlo nodded.
“And Dominic?”
“Yes?”
“If Anthony is there, Vincent may be too.”
“Then bring Vincent alive.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Elena looked relieved.
Carlo understood why.
I did not want Sofia growing up believing every problem ended with a body.
I had already given the city enough ghosts.
Three hours later, Marco called.
“We got Anthony.”
“And Vincent?”
“Gone.”
“Archives?”
“Safe.”
“Casualties?”
“One of ours wounded.”
“Anthony talking?”
“Not yet.”
“Bring him.”
Anthony arrived at dawn.
He looked at me without fear.
That irritated me.
“You kidnapped a three-year-old.”
“No.”
“You enabled it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Vincent promised your empire would fall.”
“Why care?”
Anthony smiled.
“You killed my father.”
I stared.
“Who?”
“Matteo Colombo.”
The name returned from twenty-two years ago.
A hit ordered by my father.
I had been nineteen.
My first sanctioned killing.
Matteo had murdered a Moretti soldier.
I had pulled the trigger.
Anthony had been seventeen.
“You built your life after destroying mine.”
His voice shook now.
“So I waited.”
Elena stood near the door.
I saw something in her expression.
Not sympathy.
Understanding.
This was the cycle.
My father’s war produced Anthony.
Anthony produced Sofia’s kidnapping.
If I killed Anthony’s relatives, someone else would wait twenty years.
I looked at him.
“You’ll face federal charges.”
He laughed.
“You’re handing me to cops?”
“Yes.”
“That’s weakness.”
“No.”
I glanced toward Elena.
“It’s exhaustion.”
Anthony stared at me.
“Vincent will kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“He’ll never stop.”
“Then help me find him.”
Anthony smiled.
“Go to hell.”
I stood carefully.
Pain burned through my shoulder.
“Fine.”
I walked toward the door.
Behind me Anthony said:
“He’ll come for the girl again.”
I stopped.
“Where?”
Anthony laughed.
“He doesn’t need to find her.”
I turned.
“What does that mean?”
“He already knows where she’ll be.”
My heart stopped.
Elena went white.
“Sofia.”
We had moved Sofia to Marco’s wife’s home that morning.
Only six people knew.
Marco.
Me.
Elena.
Carlo.
Two guards.
But Anthony had been in the mansion before arrest.
He might have accessed communications.
I grabbed my phone.
No answer from Marco’s wife.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Sofia’s little voice came through another incoming call.
“Dommy?”
I froze.
“Sofia?”
A man laughed behind her.
Vincent.
My blood went cold.
May you like
“I told you,” he said.
“No more girls.”
