The van cut through the midnight streets of New York City, its headlights slicing across wet asphalt. Inside, Anthony Russo struggled against the zip ties binding his wrists, his breathing sharp and furious.
"You have no idea what you've done," Anthony hissed.
Luca sat across from him, calm, composed, his expression unreadable.
"Oh, I know exactly what I've done," Luca replied quietly.
The city blurred past the tinted windows—neon lights, late-night diners, unaware pedestrians. Life continuing as if nothing had shifted. But beneath that calm surface, the balance of power had just cracked.
Anthony leaned forward as far as the restraints allowed. "My father will burn your family to the ground."
Luca's jaw tightened slightly. "Your father already started the fire."
The van finally slowed as it entered an abandoned industrial yard near the waterfront. Rusted cranes loomed over empty shipping containers like skeletons from a forgotten era. This wasn't territory claimed by either family.
Neutral ground.
The doors opened. Cold air rushed in.
Anthony was dragged out and forced onto a metal chair inside an empty warehouse. One bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete floor.
Luca dismissed his men with a glance.
"I'll handle this."
When they were alone, silence filled the warehouse.
Anthony studied Luca carefully. "You pulled the trigger at the docks," he said.
Luca didn't respond.
"My father liked you," Anthony continued. "He said you were smarter than the rest."
"That's why I'm still alive," Luca answered evenly.
Anthony gave a humorless laugh. "Kidnapping me isn't smart. It's suicidal."
Luca stepped closer. "Your warehouse in Queens. Two of our men executed."
Anthony's eyes flickered—just slightly.
Luca noticed.
"So you did know," Luca said quietly.
Anthony looked away.
That small reaction told Luca everything.
"This war," Anthony said after a moment, "wasn't supposed to escalate like this."
"Then why did it?" Luca demanded.
Anthony hesitated.
Before he could answer, a phone vibrated in Luca's pocket.
He stepped aside and answered.
"Yes."
The voice on the other end belonged to Vittorio.
"There's movement," Vittorio said urgently. "Russo soldiers are mobilizing across Brooklyn. Word spread fast."
"How?" Luca asked sharply.
"We don't know."
But Luca had a feeling.
He looked back at Anthony.
"You weren't careful enough," Anthony said softly. "There's always someone watching."
Across the river, in a surveillance van parked near Brooklyn Bridge, Detective Isabella Reyes lowered her binoculars.
She had followed the van from Queens.
She hadn't intervened.
Not yet.
Her partner looked at her. "We call it in?"
"Not yet," she said firmly.
"If we wait too long—"
"I know."
But Isabella understood something most officers didn't.
If she moved too soon, both families would scatter.
If she waited, they might tear each other apart.
And she would collect what remained.
Her phone buzzed with an internal memo: escalating gang violence expected. Possible citywide task force.
She stared toward the dark industrial yard in the distance.
"Let them make their move," she whispered.
Back in the warehouse, Luca returned to Anthony.
"You're going to make a call," Luca said.
Anthony smiled faintly. "And say what?"
"That you're alive."
"And?"
"That we negotiate."
Anthony laughed. "You think this ends with negotiation?"
"It ends with leverage," Luca corrected.
Anthony leaned back in the chair, studying him carefully.
"You're not like your uncle," he said after a moment.
"That's not a compliment."
"It's not meant to be."
Suddenly, headlights flashed outside the warehouse.
Luca's instincts sharpened.
That wasn't his crew.
The engines outside multiplied.
More than one car.
Anthony's smile widened slowly.
"You really thought," Anthony murmured, "that we wouldn't come?"
Luca's pulse steadied instead of racing.
He had anticipated retaliation.
But not this fast.
The warehouse doors burst open.
Gunfire erupted.
Luca dove behind a steel column as bullets tore into the walls.
Anthony's chair toppled sideways.
Shouts echoed.
Glass shattered.
This wasn't a rescue attempt.
This was an execution.
Through the chaos, Luca realized something chilling.
The shooters weren't trying to save Anthony.
They were shooting at him too.
Anthony stared at Luca from the floor, confusion flooding his face.
"They're not ours!" Anthony shouted over the gunfire.
Which meant only one thing.
A third player had entered the game.
And they wanted both families dead.
Luca grabbed Anthony by the collar and dragged him behind cover just as another burst of bullets ripped through the warehouse.
Outside, sirens began to rise in the distance.
The city was waking up.
And the war had just become far more complicated.