Chapter 17 - The War Room
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By five in the morning, the strategy room in the basement of Wexley Hall was buzzing with tactical intensity.
Digital screens illuminated the dark room, displaying blueprints of Long Island, flight paths, and weapons inventories. Luca and eight high-ranking captains stood around the central glass table.
Wren stood at the head of the table beside Damian. She had replaced her leather jacket with a tailored dark suit, her hair styled sleekly, her posture commanding absolute respect from every man in the room.
"Viktor Donati is not his father," Wren explained, pointing to a digital photo of a scar-faced man on the screen. "His father was cautious. Viktor is a sadist. He uses heavy explosives, civilian collateral, and scorched-earth tactics."
"He thinks he's landing in a city full of unprepared gangsters," Luca added, a grim smirk on his bearded face. "He doesn't know we have the Ghost running our defense."
"He lands at John F. Kennedy airport at nine AM," Damian said, leaning over the table. "He expects us to defend Wexley Hall. He expects a siege."
"Then we don't give him one," Wren said, her dark eyes flashing with lethal tactical brilliance. "We hit his plane on the tarmac before his feet touch American soil."
The captains exchanged stunned looks. Intercepting a Sicilian Don's private jet at an international airport was a move of insane audacity.
"Is that legal?" one captain stammered.
May you like
Wren looked at the captain with a cold, terrifying smile. "Since when do we care about legal?"
Damian let out a low laugh, clapping his hand on the table. "You heard her. Gear up. We leave in twenty minutes."
