With one sentence,
Alex Cross cut straight to the heart of the call.
Gianna fell silent.
She hadn't expected Alex to already possess the vault's documents.
But the shrewd woman quickly realized—
he must have read them, understood their weight to the Camorra Family, and was now waiting for her to come begging.
The thought made her sigh bitterly.
Her dear brother had truly created a disaster for the family.
As for abandoning the documents?
Impossible.
Just one file—the New York Division Assassin Roster—
was enough to force Gianna to the table.
The New York branch might have been wiped out,
but more than half the names on that list were still alive—
scattered worldwide, carrying out assignments.
They were the true elites the branch had cultivated over the years.
The Camorra could never give them up.
With that list in Alex's hands,
if she failed to buy him off…
he could unleash assassins to hunt them down.
Or worse—release the roster publicly.
Either would be catastrophic.
At the very least,
she needed to ensure Alex wouldn't act rashly—
giving her time to erase identities and shield those operatives.
And this was just one of the dossiers tying her hands.
Unlike her foolish brother Santino,
Gianna was decisive.
After only a short silence, she asked directly:
"Mr. Cross, what do you want?"
Alex didn't hesitate.
"The Salisbury Hotel and the Santos Club. On top of that, 500 gold coins. In return, I'll hand you the documents untouched—and guarantee five years of peace with the Camorra Family."
He smiled as he named his price.
"That's impossible!"
Gianna blurted it without thinking.
The demand stunned her.
One hotel and one nightclub alone were worth hundreds of millions—
never mind the underground training base beneath, which could, with slight modifications, serve as a powerful stronghold in New York.
Arming an enemy?
Unthinkable.
And 500 coins? Absolutely not.
Each coin traded for about a million dollars on the black market.
That was half a billion.
Even as one of the High Table Twelve,
the Camorra wouldn't simply hand 500 coins to a rival.
Besides—
if Alex could loot the vault's records,
then surely he had already taken its coins.
Gianna clenched her jaw, forcing a bitter laugh.
"Mr. Cross, you know the Camorra cannot agree to those terms."
"Miss D'Antonio, you misunderstand."
Alex cut her off smoothly.
In negotiations like this,
whoever controlled the words controlled the price.
So he laid it out for her:
"Gianna, I told your brother—I won't allow Camorra killers to return to New York. If you won't meet my terms, I'll make that promise reality.
My base is here. I can fight you on home ground. Can you afford that distraction?
And if you can't reestablish in New York, the hotel and club will rot—two worthless buildings. Trading them for your files and five years of peace isn't a loss.
As for 500 coins—tell me, what's worth more? Some metal tokens, or your family's return to New York?"
Gianna had to admit,
every word was true.
But her calculus stretched beyond five years.
She had to think of risks long after.
Still, she had little room to bargain.
She was not the one in control.
After a long pause, she gave her counteroffer:
"Mr. Cross, the family cannot agree to your conditions. However—I can sell you the Salisbury Hotel and the Santos Club for fifty million dollars.
As for the coins—you'll get two hundred, no more."
Alex pretended to hesitate,
as though reluctant.
Then he agreed.
In truth,
his bottom line was always just the hotel and the club.
The 500-coin demand?
That was a smokescreen—
a way to raise the ceiling, then let her "cut him down" to his real goal.
So while he'd pay fifty million—
the equivalent of fifty coins—
he'd also walk away with two properties and one hundred fifty extra coins.
A bargain.
Indeed,
the High Table's Twelve Families were all obscenely rich.
-------------------------
Support me so I can keep bringing you more chapters! Your comments, reviews, and power stones mean a lot.