Chapter 6 - THE WAR IN THE STREETS
The next seventy-two hours passed in a blur of tactical strikes, financial warfare, and terrifying precision.
Victor didn't wait for Moreau to strike again. He launched an all-out assault on every pillar of Moreau’s criminal infrastructure across Massachusetts.
On Tuesday night, Romano security forces raided three illegal gambling dens in East Boston owned by Moreau’s top lieutenants, seizing four million dollars in cash and turning the ledger books over to federal prosecutors.
On Wednesday morning, Victor’s legal team filed emergency injunctions against Moreau’s shell shipping companies, freezing seventeen cargo vessels docked along the Atlantic seaboard and shutting down his primary narcotics distribution pipeline.
By Thursday evening, Jessica Trent’s father had publicly resigned from his position on the city zoning board, fleeing to his estate in Florida after Victor’s auditors released evidence of his offshore tax evasion to the Boston Globe.
Dora stayed at Victor’s side through every step of the war.
She didn't sit quietly in the Nahant fortress waiting for news. She sat in the nerve center of the warehouse command post, using her sharp memory of South Boston’s streets, industrial parks, and temp-staffing routes to help Victor’s intelligence team map out Moreau’s hideouts.
She knew which diner backrooms were used for off-the-books meetings. She knew which shipping yards ran overnight shifts without security guards. She knew the city from the bottom up—the invisible details that men born into wealth always overlooked.
On Thursday night, while reviewing a map of the waterfront, Dora stopped her finger on a location near the Old Northern Avenue Bridge.
“Here,” she said, pointing to an abandoned cold-storage facility.
Victor leaned over her shoulder, his chest pressing against her back. “That place has been condemned for five years.”
“It has,” Dora agreed, looking up at him. “But three weeks ago, while I was working a late banquet shift at the harbor, I saw three unmarked freezer trucks pulling into that lot at four in the morning. They weren't unloading food, Victor. They were unloading crates of heavy military hardware.”
Victor’s eyes flared with sharp, lethal intelligence.
May you like
He looked at Lev, who was standing nearby.
“Mobilize Squads One and Two,” Victor ordered, his voice dripping with icy satisfaction. “Moreau is sitting in that freezer.”
