Chapter 16
Cesare
Paola lay beside me, staring at the ceiling. Neither of us had slept more than an hour or two. The darkness pressed against the windows, city lights bleeding through the gaps in the curtains.
"You're really going alone?" Her voice cut through the silence.
"I have to. If Viktor sees the team, he kills Piero immediately."
"And if you go alone, he might kill you both."
The truth settled between us like a third presence in the bed. This could be a suicide mission. We both knew it.
I sat up, ran my hands through my hair. Five weeks and five days of marriage. Five weeks of building something real from the wreckage of deception and forced vows. And now this—walking into Viktor's trap with nothing but fake documents and desperate hope.
"I need you to promise me something." I turned to look at her.
"Another promise?"
"If I don't come back—"
"Don't." Her voice fractured. "Don't say that."
"If I don't come back," I continued, firm but not cruel, "you take the money in the safe. The passports. You disappear. You raise our child somewhere far from this world."
Tears streamed down her face, catching the dim light. "Cesare—"
"Promise me, Paola. Our child doesn't grow up in this life. In this violence. You get out. You survive."
She grabbed my face, forced me to meet her eyes. "We're all getting out. Together. You, me, Piero, and this baby. Stop planning your funeral."
I kissed her. Hard. Desperate. Memorizing the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin against mine.
When we broke apart, dawn had started to creep across the skyline.
Time to move.
6:30 a.m. The team assembled in the penthouse's main room.
Giulio, Rocco, and four of our best operators. Plus Paola, who'd refused every attempt to make her stay behind.
I laid out the plan one final time. "I go in alone with the fake documents. Viktor thinks he's getting his surrender."
"While you're negotiating, we're in position," Giulio added, checking his weapon. "Snipers on the warehouse roofs adjacent to Pier 76. Extraction team in boats on the East River. Medical standing by at the marina."
"But we can't move until you signal," Rocco reminded me. "If we go too early, Viktor executes Piero on the spot."
I nodded. The signal: when I removed my watch and set it on whatever surface was between Viktor and me. That's when the team moved.
"Estimated timeline?" I asked.
"Thirty seconds from signal to extraction. If everything goes perfectly."
Thirty seconds. An eternity when bullets started flying.
Paola spoke up from her position by the windows. "And if Viktor searches him? Finds a wire or weapon?"
"I won't be carrying either," I said. "I go in clean. Unarmed. That's the only way Viktor might believe this is real."
The room went silent. Even Giulio, who'd seen combat in three different countries, looked uncomfortable.
Unarmed meant defenseless. Vulnerable. An easy target.
But it was the only play we had.
8:15 a.m. Time to move out.
The team loaded into vehicles—surveillance van, two SUVs with operators, medical response unit. Everything positioned but invisible.
I pulled Paola aside before we reached the elevator. Alone in the penthouse foyer, the morning light was harsh against her pale face.
"I need you to stay with Rocco," I said. "In the command vehicle. Not at the pier."
"But—"
"Please, Paola. You're pregnant. I can't focus if I'm worried about you being in the line of fire."
She wanted to argue. I could see it burning behind her eyes—the same fierce defiance that had made her refuse Viktor's offer, that had made her stand with me when her entire world collapsed.
But she nodded. "Okay. I'll stay with Rocco."
I cupped her face, kissed her. Not gently. Desperately. Like I was trying to memorize the taste of her, the way her breath caught, the small sound she made when my teeth scraped her bottom lip.
When we broke apart, both of us were breathing hard.
"Come back to me," she whispered. "Both of you. Come back."
"I'll try."
"Not good enough. Promise me."
I wanted to. God, I wanted to promise her everything—that we'd survive, that we'd raise our child together, that we'd build something beautiful from all this blood and violence.
But I'd never lied to her. Wouldn't start now.
"I'll do everything in my power," I said instead.
It was the best I could offer.
Her fingers tightened on my jacket, then released. "Go get your brother."
8:30 a.m. I drove alone toward Red Hook.
I wanted the time to think, to prepare mentally. To become the man who could walk into Viktor's trap and walk back out; the cold, ruthless man I’d been before Paola was wedged into my life.
The city woke around me. Morning commuters on the FDR. Coffee shops opening in the East Village. Normal people living normal lives, unaware of the war being waged in the shadows between skyscrapers.
I thought about the baby. My child. Growing in Paola's belly right now, cells dividing, heart forming, completely unaware that their father might die before they took their first breath.
A son? A daughter? Would they have my dark hair or her green eyes? My violence or her warmth?
Would I live to find out?
I'd faced death before. Occupational hazard of being a Don. Bullets, blades, bombs—I'd survived them all through a combination of skill, strategy, and ruthless efficiency.
But this felt different. I had more to lose now. Paola. The baby. A future I hadn't known I wanted until it became real and precious and fragile.
My phone buzzed. Piero's number, but not Piero's voice.
"Good morning, Cesare." Viktor sounded pleased with himself. "Just confirming you're on your way. Alone."
"I'm coming. Alone. As demanded."
"Excellent. See you at 9. Don't be late. And Cesare? I'll be watching the roads. If I see any vehicles following you, any sign of backup—well, you know what happens."
The line went dead.
I checked my rearview. My team was keeping distance—far enough to stay invisible, close enough to respond when needed.
If Viktor's surveillance was as good as he claimed, we'd know soon enough.
8:45 a.m., Red Hook's Pier 76.
An industrial wasteland of abandoned warehouses with broken windows and peeling paint. Rusted shipping containers stacked like children's blocks. The East River's smell—salt and diesel and decay.
Viktor had chosen well. Isolated with multiple escape routes and hard to approach unseen. I parked where instructed—the center of the pier, exposed, nowhere to hide.
Viktor's men positioned themselves around the perimeter. At least eight visible. Probably more hidden in the warehouses, behind containers, in boats on the water.
And in the center: Viktor himself, standing next to a metal chair where Piero slumped, barely conscious.
Even from here, I could see the damage. My brother's face was a mess of bruises and blood. One eye swollen shut. Head hanging forward like he didn't have the strength to hold it up.
Rage flooded through me, hot and immediate and dangerous. I forced it down. Locked it away. Emotion was weakness. I needed to be cold. Calculating. Perfect.
I grabbed the briefcase with the fake documents, stepped out of the car.
Morning sun glinted off the water. It was a beautiful day for a betrayal.
Every step toward Viktor felt like walking to my execution.
I was hyperaware of everything: Viktor's men tracking me with weapons, their fingers on triggers. The fishing boats in the distance—my extraction team, invisible to Viktor but present. The weight of my watch on my wrist, the signal device that would trigger the rescue.
Viktor's smile widened as I approached. "Cesare. Punctual as always. And alone, I see. Smart."
"Let me see him." I nodded toward Piero.
"Of course." Viktor stepped aside with exaggerated courtesy.
Piero looked up. Blood crusted on his face and neck, but he was alive. Conscious enough to recognize me.
"Brother." His voice rasped like broken glass. "You shouldn't have come."
"I came for you."
Viktor laughed—sharp and cruel. "How touching. Brotherhood. Loyalty. So old-fashioned. So... exploitable." He extended his hand. "The documents?"
I set the briefcase on a nearby crate, opened it. The transfer agreements looked legitimate—Rocco had done excellent work. Bank account numbers, territory designations, shipping route contracts. All fake, but convincing enough to pass initial inspection.
Viktor pulled them out, began scanning. His expression shifted to satisfaction as he read.
"Fifty percent. Territory, shipping routes, legitimate businesses. All transferred to my shell companies." He looked up, something like respect in his eyes. "You're really doing this."
"I'm getting my brother back. That's all that matters."
"Sentiment. Your weakness, Cesare. I don't have such weaknesses."
"No," I agreed. "You just have enemies everywhere and allies nowhere. Must be lonely."
Viktor's smile tightened, became sharp-edged. "Clever mouth. Let's see if it stays clever."
He pulled out a phone, made a call. "Verify these documents. I want confirmation that the transfers are legitimate. Account numbers, routing information, everything."
This was it. The documents would hold up for maybe ten minutes under scrutiny. After that, Viktor's people would discover the accounts didn't exist, the transfers were fraudulent, the whole thing was an elaborate fake.
I had ten minutes to get Piero out.
While Viktor was on the phone, I moved closer to my brother.
"How bad?" I kept my voice low.
"Broken ribs. Maybe internal bleeding. Hard to tell." Piero tried to smile through split lips. "I've had worse."
"We're getting you out of here."
"How? He has a dozen men. You're unarmed. This is suicide."
"I have a plan."
"Your plans usually involve violence and luck. We're low on both right now."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. My brother, beaten and bound and facing execution, still making jokes.