Chapter 5 - The Slaughter at 4th Street
At 2:00 AM, the blizzard outside Richard Sterling's exclusive underground club, The Velvet Lounge, raged with fury.
Inside, the air was thick with cigar smoke, the sound of clinking glasses, and high-stakes poker games. In a private leather booth at the back of the VIP lounge sat Richard Sterling—a fat, scarred man wearing a velvet blazer, dripping in gold chains.
Sitting across from him were Victoria and Natalie, sipping cheap gin, their eyes wide with desperate greed.
"Don't worry, ladies," Sterling sneered, blowing a cloud of gray smoke toward the ceiling. "My boys are at the hospital right now. By sunrise, your little daughter-in-law will be resting comfortably in one of my basements. Once she signs the trust transfer, Ethan will have no choice but to surrender."
"Make sure you hurt her a little," Natalie spat, her voice dripping with venom. "She ruined my life! She took my car!"
"Oh, she'll pay," Sterling laughed darkly. "Nobody crosses Richard Sterling and—"
BANG!
The heavy reinforced steel doors of the VIP lounge blew inward with a deafening explosion of sparks and iron.
Screams erupted through the club as high-rollers scrambled under tables. Before Sterling's guards could even reach for their holstered weapons, a tear gas canister bounced across the polished wooden floor, filling the room with dense, blinding smoke.
Through the haze stepped twelve men clad in unmarked black tactical gear, wielding suppressed submachine guns. They moved with terrifying, robotic precision.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Suppressed gunshots echoed rhythmically through the room. Within fifteen seconds, all twelve of Sterling's private bodyguards were lying on the floor, disarmed, bloody, and groaning in pain. Not a single shot had been fired in return.
Victoria and Natalie shrieked, diving beneath the leather booth, covering their ears in sheer terror.
Through the clearing smoke walked a single man wearing an immaculate black overcoat and leather gloves.
Ethan.
Sterling stumbled backward out of his booth, his face white as a sheet, pulling a pearl-handled revolver from his jacket with trembling hands. "Who the hell are you?! Do you know who I am?!"
I walked slowly toward him, stepping over a fallen guard. Victor walked right beside me, holding a black leather folder.
"Put the gun down, Richard," I said, my voice echoing like thunder in the silent club.
"I'll kill you, you arrogant suit!" Sterling roared, aiming the gun at my chest.
Before his finger could squeeze the trigger, Victor moved like a shadow. He grabbed Sterling's wrist, twisted it back with a sickening SNAP, and disarmed him in a fraction of a second. Sterling dropped to his knees, howling in agony as his broken wrist hung limp.
I pulled a chair out from a nearby table and sat down in front of him, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
"You sent eight men to the St. Jude medical wing tonight," I said softly.
Sterling gasped for air, tears of pain streaming down his fat cheeks. "They... they were supposed to get the girl..."
"They didn't reach the floor," I informed him smoothly. "My men intercepted them in the parking garage. They are currently swimming in the frozen bay."
Sterling’s eyes dilated in pure, unadulterated horror. He looked at Victor, then back at me, his brain finally piecing together the terrifying truth.
"The... the shipping docks..." Sterling whispered, his voice trembling violently. "The Ghost... the man who wiped out the Moretti family last year..."
"You called me an arrogant suit," I murmured, taking the black leather folder from Victor and tossing it into Sterling's lap. "In reality, Richard, I own every police captain you've ever bribed. I own every judge on your payroll. And I own the building you're sitting in."
Sterling opened the folder with his one good hand. Inside were property deeds, wiretap logs, and photos of every illegal operation he ran—along with the names and school addresses of all his top lieutenants' families.
"Please..." Sterling wept, bowing his head until his forehead touched my leather shoes. "Mr. Carter... I didn't know! I swear to God I didn't know she was your wife! These two women came to me! They lied to me!"
From beneath the leather booth, Victoria and Natalie watched the scene in utter, paralyzed disbelief.
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The man sitting on the chair—the quiet, obedient son who traveled for "corporate deals"—was being treated like a god of death by the most feared mobster in the district.
"Get out from under the table, Mother," I said without turning my head.
