Across the East River, in a cramped apartment above a butcher shop that had stood since the Giuliani era, Luca wiped blood off his hands with a rag already soaked through. The counter before him was littered with slabs of beef, glistening under the flickering fluorescent light. A fly buzzed lazily near the meat locker door.
Outside, the rain fell in sheets, drumming against the metal shutters like impatient fingers.
He didn't look up when he heard the knock at the back door. It came again, three sharp raps, then a pause, then two more. The old signal. One meant danger. Two meant family.
But three, then two?
That was new.
Luca dried his hands slowly, eyes scanning the room. His father's hunting knife still sat beside the cleaver set. He grabbed it without hesitation, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans beneath his apron.
The knock came again.
Louder this time.
He moved silently across the tiled floor, boots barely making a sound. He reached the door, hand on the knob. Then...
"Open up, kid," came a voice from the other side. "It's me."
Luca exhaled sharply. He knew that voice. It belonged to Frankie "Guts" Romano, one of his father's oldest enforcers. Frankie had been around since Luca was knee-high to a coffin lid. He used to let Luca hold his gun after Sunday dinners, just for fun. Or so he said.
Still, Luca didn't open the door right away.
"You alone?" he asked, voice low.
"Yeah," Frankie replied. "And I wouldn't be knocking if I wasn't."
Luca hesitated another second before unlatching the lock. As soon as the door cracked open, Frankie pushed inside, drenched and breathing hard. He slammed the door behind him and locked it again.
"You need to leave," Frankie said, pulling off his soaked jacket. His shirt underneath was stained with something darker than rainwater.
Luca narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
Frankie paced the small kitchen, glancing out the window. "They found Anton."
Luca froze.
"They hit Pier 42 tonight. Three men went in. Only shadows came out."
Luca's grip tightened on the counter. "Where is he?"
Frankie looked at him like he'd just asked for his own death sentence. "I don't know. But they're looking for you now. Rocco doesn't want any Vargas left standing."
Luca turned away, staring at the photo on the wall, a faded snapshot of him and Anton standing outside a Coney Island arcade, both smiling like they hadn't a care in the world. That day felt like another life.
"I'm not running," Luca said finally.
Frankie stepped closer. "You think you got a choice? You think your dad died so you could play hero?"
Luca spun around, grabbing Frankie by the collar. "Don't talk about my father."
Frankie didn't flinch. "Then listen to me while you still can. They're coming. And they won't stop until every drop of Varga blood is in the gutter."
For a long moment, neither man moved. Rain pounded the roof like war drums.
Finally, Luca released Frankie's collar and stepped back.
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
Frankie exhaled, rubbing his temples. "There's an old tunnel system under the shop. Your grandfather built it during the last war. Leads to Queens."
Luca raised an eyebrow. "You knew about it?"
Frankie smirked. "Kid, I helped dig half of it."
Luca stared at him, suspicion still burning in his gut. Then he nodded once.
"Show me."
Frankie moved toward the meat locker. He pulled aside a hanging side of beef and pressed his palm against the far wall. With a soft groan, a panel slid open, revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness.
Luca grabbed a flashlight from under the counter and clicked it on. The beam cut through the damp air, illuminating rusted pipes and crumbling brick.
Frankie handed him a worn leather satchel. "Take this. Money, passports, a few toys in case someone gets too close."
Luca took it without a word.
Then Frankie looked him dead in the eye.
"This is your only chance, Luca. Once you step down there, you don't come back. Not unless you're ready to end this."
Luca met his gaze.
"I've been ready," he said.
Without another word, he stepped into the dark.
Behind him, Frankie closed the panel.
And somewhere above, the rain kept falling.