Chapter 5 - The Cavalry ArrivesSirens wailed outside, cutting through the rainy New York night with the piercing urgency of a dozen police cruisers and tactical vans converging on the block. Red and blue strobe lights painted the shattered interior of Serafina in violent, flashing hues.
“FBI! Federal agents! Drop your weapons!”
A dozen tactical officers in heavy black armor swarmed through the shattered glass entryway, rifles raised and targeted directly at—us.
Not at Vincent’s men. At me.
I froze, the barrel of my gun still pressed against Vincent’s chin.
“Drop the weapon, Valenti! Hands behind your head!” an agent roared, stepping forward with a tactical shield.
Vincent, bleeding from a gash on his forehead and soaked in forty-year-old scotch, let out a hysterical, blood-spattered laugh beneath my gun barrel. “You’re too late, Dominic! The federal indictments were signed this morning. You think Whitmore was your only puppet? The entire district attorney’s office is on my payroll!”
My eyes flicked toward Judge Whitmore, who was crawling away from the bar like a whipped dog, clutching his briefcase.
Marco stepped out from the kitchen corridor with his hands raised, his expression thunderous. “Boss, the back alley is blocked by federal transport vans. It’s a setup.”
A setup. Salvatore’s old network hadn't died with him; it had simply migrated into the federal apparatus, waiting for the right moment to decapitate the Valenti syndicate while neutralizing my legal immunity.
“Dominic!”
Elena’s voice cut through the chaos of shouting federal agents and flashing lights. She was walking steadily across the ruined floor, holding Aria tightly against her chest with one arm while shielding the little girl’s eyes with her hand.
“Elena, get back behind the table!” I shouted, my chest burning.
“No,” she said, stepping directly into the line of fire between the FBI tactical team and my position at the bar.
The lead FBI agent lowered his rifle slightly, blinking in confusion as a stunning woman in an ivory cashmere dress holding a child walked casually into the middle of a federal takedown. “Ma’am, step away from the armed combatants immediately or you will be detained—”
“My name is Elena Harrell-Valenti,” she announced, her voice ringing with absolute, unshakeable authority that made the entire tactical squad hesitate. “And before you arrest my husband for crimes he may or may not have committed, I suggest you look at the tablet in my leather folio bag.”
Vincent snarled from beneath my gun. “Don't listen to her! She’s a civilian asset! Shoot them all!”
“Shut up, Vincent,” I growled, grinding the gun barrel deeper into his throat until he choked.
Elena reached into her tote bag with her free hand, pulled out a sleek digital tablet, and tossed it across the glass-strewn floor directly to the lead FBI agent. The agent caught it instinctively.
“That document,” Elena said, her eyes locked on the agent, “contains the complete financial ledger of the federal conspiracy involving Judge Whitmore, Vincent Moretti, and the late Salvatore Valenti. It details every bribe, every rigged indictment, and every dollar of public funds funneled into the Moretti shipping front over the last seven years.”
The FBI agent stared down at the screen, his face draining of color as his eyes scanned the encrypted data files. He looked up slowly, then shifted his gaze toward Judge Whitmore, who was now desperately trying to crawl out the shattered front door.
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“Agent Miller,” Whitmore squeaked from the floor, sweat pouring down his neck. “It’s a forgery! Arrest them! Arrest them all!”
Agent Miller didn't move. Instead, he raised his radio. “Team two, secure Judge Whitmore and lock down the perimeter. Nobody leaves this building.”
