28. Fury Unleashed
Fury Unleashed
Micah
T he maps covering the back office wall blur before my eyes as exhaustion and worry compete for my focus. Every territory marked in careful color-coding represents hours of reconnaissance, countless favors called in, delicate negotiations balanced on the knife edge of violence and diplomacy.
I force myself to concentrate as Zeke outlines our strategy for dealing with the Barone family.
His voice carries the measured authority that’s guided us through countless crises, but even he shows signs of strain: tension around his eyes, fingers that drum against the polished wood of the conference table.
The stress of the situation is magnified by the confirmation we received this morning that Francesca is the one that ordered the attacks on us. Even more disturbing is we have proof that Nicolo is indeed behind her betrayal.
Nicolo is not happy with us. We’re responsible for Marcus’s imprisonment, the death of the Costa family, and now the Gallaghers. He wants revenge. He’s using Francesca to get it.
“The shipment arrives Thursday,” Zeke says, tapping a circled location on the harbor map. “Francesca thinks she has exclusive control of those warehouses, but our inside man confirms the manager’s loyalty remains fluid. We can bribe him.”
Seb lounges in his chair, deceptively casual as he adds financial projections to the discussion. His usual playboy charm has an edge today and his smiles don’t quite reach his eyes. Even Eli, standing guard by the door, radiates subtle tension in the set of his broad shoulders.
We all feel it—the weight of what we’re planning. A direct challenge to Francesca Barone’s authority—and by extension, Nicolo Moretti—hitting her where she’s most vulnerable.
She needs to learn her place. She can’t orchestrate attacks on other families and get away with it. If she’s not careful, she’ll end up just like the Costas and Gallaghers.
The risk of what we’re planning is calculated but substantial. We have to get the local families in line if we want to maintain our freedom. One wrong move could ignite a war none of us wants—one with New York.
My role in the operation is particularly heavy.
I’ll be leading the tactical team, my reputation for controlled violence makes me the natural choice.
The irony doesn’t escape me. Here I am planning criminal enterprises while Naomi dreams of opening a bakery.
The contrast between our worlds has never felt starker.
I force my attention back to the tactical details Zeke is outlining, adding my own insights about patrol patterns and security weaknesses observed during recent reconnaissance.
The vibration of my phone catches me off guard. When I check the screen, confusion furrows my brow. Olivia.
Zeke notices my distraction and raises an eyebrow. At my questioning glance, he nods permission to answer.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, stepping away from the table. The phone continues vibrating against my palm as I move toward the corner, maintaining professional distance from the ongoing discussion.
“Olivia?” I keep my voice low, controlled despite the unease building in my gut.
Her response shatters any pretense of calm. Gone is her usual composed sophistication, replaced by raw panic that raises all my internal alarms.
“Micah. Thank god.” Words tumble out in a frantic rush. “It’s Naomi. Someone broke in. I was on the phone with her when—”
“Slow down. What happened to Naomi?” Panic rises as I struggle to make sense of Olivia’s words.
“We were talking when she saw someone outside the cabin. A man. Then there was this horrible crash, and she screamed and Micah, the phone went dead. I’ve been trying to call back but nothing’s going through.”
The phone slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the floor. The sound draws sharp attention from the others, their expressions shifting from confusion to concern as they register my uncharacteristic loss of composure.
Zeke moves first, retrieving the fallen phone and continuing the conversation with Olivia while I struggle to process this catastrophic development. Years of training kick in, forcing me to compartmentalize the emotional response threatening to overwhelm rational thought.
I call out to Seb and give him the information for the security cameras at the cabin.
“What cabin?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“My cabin,” I growl. “Just pull up the feed.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, action now. Questions later.”
My hands are steady as I pull out the burner phone designated for communication with Naomi, but my heart pounds painfully as call after call goes straight to voicemail. With each failed attempt, hope of a benign explanation diminishes.
“The cabin’s security system is offline,” Seb reports, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard. “Looks like it was deliberately disabled, not a technical glitch.”
The confirmation nearly breaks me. Our safe haven violated. My promise of protection broken. Naomi taken.
I should have been there.
The thought rises unbidden, useless yet impossible to suppress. I left her alone, vulnerable, trusting in distance and secrecy to keep her safe. Now she’s paying the price for my miscalculation.
“Micah.” Zeke’s voice cuts through the spiral of self-recrimination. He’s ended the call with Olivia, his expression grim but focused. “We need a plan. Now.”
Guilt and fear won’t help Naomi. Action will. I force myself to think tactically, to apply decades of experience.
“The cabin has cameras covering all approaches,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Even with the security system disabled, footage should have uploaded to the cloud server before the connection was cut.”
Seb nods, fingers already moving across his keyboard as I give him the information he needs to access the server. “I’m in. Give me two minutes.”
“Eli.” I turn to my oldest friend, seeing my own determination reflected in his dark eyes. “I need you to coordinate with our street contacts. Someone must have seen something—vehicle descriptions, unusual movement in the area. I want to know if I was followed.”
“On it.” He’s already pulling out his phone.
“I’ll activate our police contacts,” Zeke adds. He means his wife, Eve. She’ll move heaven and earth to save her friend, just like I would. “If this was sanctioned by any of the families, there might be chatter through official channels.”
The efficiency of their response steadies me somewhat. This is what we do—solve problems, handle crises, protect our own. And Naomi has become one of ours.
“Got it.” Seb’s sharp exclamation draws us to his laptop. “Security footage from the last hour. Quality’s not great but—”
We crowd around the screen, watching grainy images of a black SUV approaching the cabin. Two men emerge—professionals based on their movements, faces obscured by ski masks. The actual break-in happens off-camera, but minutes later they emerge half-carrying, half-dragging an unconscious Naomi.
My hands clench into fists as I watch them bundle her into the vehicle. The image is too poor to make out details of her condition, but the limp way she hangs between them suggests some level of violence was used to subdue her.
Before they put her in the car, the camera cuts off, leaving us with nothing but static.
“Can you go back and enhance the license plate?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Seb shakes his head. “Too blurry. But the SUV is a newer model Escalade with custom wheels. I can run it through traffic cams, see if we can track their route.”
“Do it.” I turn to Zeke, seeing the same grim calculation in his expression that I feel. “This was Francesca’s doing.”
“Possibly.” He studies the frozen image on screen. “Question is, how did they know where to find her? We didn’t even know about the cabin.”
There’s no judgement in Zeke’s tone. I needed to keep Noami safe and the less people who knew her location the better. He understands that. The only explanation for her discovery is someone must have tracked me despite my precautions.
“Time frame?” Eli asks, rejoining us after making his calls.
I check my watch, forcing past the panic clawing at my chest. “Olivia’s call came in twelve minutes ago. Add maybe five minutes between the attack and her getting through to us. They’ve got less than a twenty-minute head start.”
“Main roads from that area are limited,” Seb adds, pulling up a map. “If they’re heading back to Columbus, there are only three likely routes. I’m accessing traffic cameras now.”
I nod mechanically, mind racing through possibilities. Who would take her? Why? The timing, coming just as we prepare to move against the Barone family, seems unlikely to be coincidence. But something about this feels personal and not purely tactical.
“Her personal phone,” I say suddenly. “Can we track it?”
“Already tried.” Seb doesn’t look up from his rapid typing. “Signal’s dead. They either destroyed it or removed the battery.”
Another professional touch. These people know what they’re doing. The thought sends a fresh wave of fear through my veins as I imagine Naomi at their mercy.
I will find you . Whatever it takes. Whoever has you. I will burn this city to the ground if I have to.
My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of Zeke’s desk, struggling to maintain the calm exterior I’ve spent decades perfecting.
The polished wood beneath my fingers grounds me, gives me something tangible to focus on beyond the storm raging inside my chest. The air in this back office feels suddenly thin, insufficient.
I force myself to breathe anyway, to think clearly despite the vice tightening around my heart.
Naomi is gone.
Three simple words have destroyed the careful compartmentalization I’ve relied on my entire professional life.
I pull out her personal phone and dial her number for the seventh time. I don’t know why I keep torturing myself with this. Something to do maybe.