Chapter 8 - The Ambush on the Supply Lines
By mid-afternoon, the retaliation shifted from social slurs to economic violence.
Don Emilio Caruso was not a man to rely solely on gossip columns to fight his wars.
He had spent forty years building a network of muscle, corrupt port inspectors, and street-level extortionists across the city's eastern bay.
At three o'clock, Sebastian sat behind his desk in the third-floor office, listening to Dante deliver an urgent intelligence briefing.
"They hit three of our distribution trucks coming off the northern turnpike, Don Sebastian," Dante reported, his face grim.
"They didn't steal the cargo. They slashed the tires, burned the pallets, and left a note written in red paint."
"What did the note say?" Sebastian asked, his voice deathly calm, his pen still moving across a financial ledger.
"'Feed your cook with ashes,'" Dante quoted quietly.
Sebastian stopped writing.
The nib of the expensive fountain pen snapped beneath his fingers, dark ink blooming across the white paper like fresh blood.
He lifted his head slowly, his eyes reflecting a darkness that had remained dormant for years.
"Where is the southern delivery?" Sebastian asked, referring to the artisanal agricultural shipments that supplied the estate and the high-end restaurants the family owned.
"It's scheduled to arrive at the old warehouse on Eighth Avenue within thirty minutes," Dante said, glancing at his watch.
"The driver called in fifteen minutes ago saying he was being tailed by two black sedans with unregistered plates."
Sebastian rose from his desk with terrifying speed, pulling a custom nine-millimeter semi-automatic from his drawer and checking the slide with a clean, metallic snap.
"Call the team. We are going to Eighth Avenue."
As Sebastian moved down the grand stairs, Elise stepped out of the dining room carrying a pitcher of fresh lemonade.
She saw the look in his eyes, the heavy leather shoulder holster concealed beneath his tailored coat, and the line of four armed guards flanking him.
She set the pitcher on the hall table immediately.
"What happened?" Elise asked, rushing toward him, her hands instinctively reaching out.
"Stay inside the gates, Elise," Sebastian ordered, not slowing his pace.
Elise stepped directly in front of him, planting her feet on the marble floor and forcing him to stop or run her down.
"Don't you dare give me orders like I'm a child, Sebastian Moretti," she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"If someone is attacking this family because of what happened last night, I have a right to know."
Sebastian looked down at her, the cold fury in his veins clashing violently with the sudden, fierce terror that something might happen to her.
"Emilio Caruso is hitting our logistics," Sebastian explained quickly, his voice tight.
"He is trying to choke off our supply lines and send a message that nobody associated with this house is safe."
"Then take Dante and make sure the driver survives," Elise said, her tone suddenly shifting from defiance to sharp, practical authority.
"And don't do something reckless that gives the district attorney an excuse to raid this house while your father is still recovering."
Sebastian paused, genuinely stunned by her immediate strategic clarity.
Most women in his orbit would have screamed, cried, or begged him not to leave.
Elise stood there, analyzing the consequences of the law and the safety of the household in a single breath.
"You are a terrifying woman, Elise Whitmore," Sebastian murmured, a grim half-smile touching his lips.
"Go do your job so you can come back and eat dinner," Elise commanded, stepping aside.
"And you better come back in one piece, or I'll throw your dinner to the dogs."
Sebastian reached out, his gloved hand cupping the side of her face for a single, breathless second, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone.
"Lock the iron gates behind me," he said.
Twenty minutes later, Eighth Avenue erupted into gunfire.
Two Caruso chase vehicles had boxed the Moretti delivery truck against the concrete loading docks, five armed men stepping out with shotguns ready to incinerate the cargo.
They never got the chance to pull their triggers.
Sebastian’s black armored SUV smashed into the lead vehicle at fifty miles per hour, sending metal spinning across the rain-soaked asphalt.
Dante and the Moretti enforcers poured out of the secondary vehicles with military precision, suppressing the ambush within sixty seconds.
Sebastian walked through the clearing smoke, his weapon lowered, stepping over the shattered glass until he stood over the wounded leader of the Caruso strike team.
The man groaned, clutching his shattered shoulder, staring up into the terrifying, unblinking face of the Don.
Sebastian knelt down, his suit spotless despite the wreckage surrounding him.
"Tell Emilio that his message was received," Sebastian whispered into the man's ear.
"And tell him that the next time he touches anything that feeds this family, I will burn his docks to the waterline with him locked inside the office."
May you like
Sebastian stood up, turning his back on the wreckage without looking back once.
"Clear the street," he ordered Dante. "I have a dinner to attend."
