My uncle told me I was being shipped off to New Jersey to serve a mandatory alliance contract with a veteran syndicate partner named Gabe DeLuca.
The next morning, the retaliatory strike from Vic came swiftly and savagely, precisely as I had predicted. Not against Julian, not against me directly, but against Great-Aunt Sofia.
My phone vibrated with a text message. It wasn’t from a contact I recognized, but the content made my blood run cold: “All Ross family trust disbursements frozen. Vic’s orders.”
A few minutes later, Julian’s flip phone rang. He listened, his face grim, then snapped it shut.
“My contact at the union hall,” he reported, his voice tight. “Vic put out the word. He called you a ‘rogue asset’ who’s stealing from family reserves. And he cut off all funds to the Ross family estate in Brooklyn.”
“The medical fund,” I whispered. Great-Aunt Sofia’s monthly $25,000 medical reserve. It was critical for her private nursing care and specialized medications. Without it, her health would rapidly decline.
“He thinks that’ll stop me,” I said, my jaw clenching. “He thinks by hurting Sofia, he hurts me.”
Julian shook his head. “It’s a low blow, Leo. Even for Vic.”
The syndicate wasn’t supposed to touch the elderly or the infirm, especially not a matriarch like Sofia Ross, who held a revered, if quiet, place in the family. It was an unspoken rule, a line even Vic usually wouldn’t cross. But my manipulation of his Apex Maritime account clearly sent him into a frenzy.
Later that afternoon, another discreet text message arrived. This one was from Maya Ross, Vic’s nineteen-year-old daughter, my cousin. Her name appeared on the screen, a forbidden contact that could put her in serious danger.
Her message was short and chilling: “Dad is preparing a permanent move against Aunt Sofia. Says she’s a ‘liability’ and too old to know what’s good for her. Be careful.”
A knot formed in my stomach. “Permanent move.” It could mean anything from moving her to a cheap, unsupervised nursing home to something far worse. Vic would never physically harm Sofia himself, but he was capable of arranging for “unfortunate accidents” if it served his purpose.
“Maya says Vic is preparing a permanent move against Great-Aunt Sofia,” I told Julian, showing him the text.
Julian’s eyes darkened. “He’s lost it. Going after the old woman? That’s a death sentence in the old school.”
“He doesn’t care about old school anymore,” I said. “He only cares about money and power. And Sofia represents a piece of the Ross legacy he can’t fully control.”
I thought back to Sofia’s sharp mind, her quiet dignity. She was fragile, yes, but her spirit was unyielding. My father always said she remembered every slight, every historical detail, every hidden transaction. She was a living archive of the syndicate’s true history, a history Vic wanted buried.
“We need to get to Brooklyn,” I decided. “Before Vic does anything else.”
“She’s fragile, Leo,” Julian warned. “And Vic’s men are probably watching her house.”
“Then we go discreetly,” I said, already planning the route. “We can’t let him do this to her.”
The thought of Sofia, old and vulnerable, being targeted by Vic’s greed sparked a cold fury within me. This wasn’t just about the money anymore. It was about protecting the last decent person left in the Ross family.
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