Victor Moretti did not scream when he heard the news.
That alone terrified the men in the room.
He stood at the center of his private office, hands braced against the edge of his desk, head bowed slightly as the words settled into his bones.
The girl is still with him.
Russo hasn't made a demand.
Security around the estate has doubled.
Silence followed the report.
The kind of silence that made grown men stop breathing.
Victor lifted his head slowly. His face was calm, almost serene, but his eyes were cold enough to kill.
"No ransom," he said softly. "No message."
The man who had delivered the update nodded nervously. "None, sir."
Victor straightened, adjusting the cuff of his tailored suit. The office around him was pristine, dark wood, expensive art, a wall of glass overlooking the city he controlled. Lagos stretched endlessly below, alive and ignorant of the blood about to be spilled.
"So Dante Russo wants a war," Victor said.
No one answered.
Victor smiled.
"Then he'll have one."
He turned sharply. "Call everyone."
Phones were already being lifted.
"I want the docks locked down," Victor continued. "Burn Russo supply lines. Shut down his fronts. Kill anyone who even whispers his name."
One man hesitated. "Sir… civilians"
Victor's gaze snapped to him.
"Do I look like I care?"
The room froze.
"My daughter is in the hands of my enemy," Victor said quietly. "Anyone who stands between me and getting her back is expendable."
Even Lena.
The thought passed through his mind without guilt.
The streets felt it first.
Deals went bad. Shipments disappeared. Men were dragged out of cars in broad daylight and shot without warning. Gunfire echoed through alleyways and clubs alike, staining the night red.
Lagos had seen violence before.
But this was different.
This was personal.
Victor's orders rippled outward, unstoppable and merciless. His men moved like predators, striking fast and without restraint. Russo territory burned, warehouses torched, businesses destroyed, bodies left as messages.
Fear returned to the city.
And Victor fed on it.
Across the city, Dante Russo watched the chaos unfold through a wall of screens.
Names scrolled past. Locations lit up red. Losses mounted.
He said nothing.
The men around him shifted uneasily, waiting for an outburst that never came.
"He's hitting hard," one of them said. "Harder than expected."
Dante's jaw tightened. "No. This is exactly what I expected."
Victor Moretti was many things. Careful was not one of them.
"Pull back non-essential assets," Dante ordered. "Let him think he's winning."
"And the girl?" another man asked carefully.
Dante's gaze flickered toward the hallway that led to Lena's room.
"She stays where she is."
Lena heard the sirens that night.
They wailed endlessly in the distance, a haunting chorus that echoed through the walls of the estate. Even behind reinforced glass and guarded corridors, the city's pain reached her.
She sat on the bed, knees drawn up, heart pounding.
This was her fault.
The door opened quietly.
Dante stepped inside, his presence heavier than usual. His shirt was stained with blood, not his. His eyes were dark, burning with restrained fury.
"You hear that?" he asked.
She nodded. "What's happening?"
"Your father," Dante said. "He's reminding the city who he is."
Her stomach dropped.
"People are dying," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Because of me."
"No," Dante corrected. "Because of him."
She stood abruptly. "Stop this."
His eyes snapped to her. "You think I can?"
"You started it," she said. "End it."
Dante laughed, low, humorless. "You don't understand your father."
"I understand him better than you think."
"Then you know he won't stop."
Lena swallowed hard. "What does he want?"
"Power," Dante said. "Control. And you back, only because losing you makes him look weak."
The words hit harder than any slap.
"You're lying," she said, though her voice wavered.
"I'm not," Dante replied. "If he truly cared, he'd negotiate. He'd protect the city."
She shook her head, denial clawing at her chest.
Dante stepped closer. "He's burning the world to prove he still owns it."
Tears burned behind her eyes.
She forced them back.
Fear didn't live here.
But grief did.
Victor stood on a rooftop as the city burned.
Flames licked the sky in the distance, reflecting in his eyes like celebration. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, utterly unmoved by the destruction he'd unleashed.
"They'll break," he said calmly. "They always do."
"Russo hasn't responded," a lieutenant reported.
Victor exhaled smoke. "Good. That means he's watching."
He turned sharply. "And when he blinks, I'll take my daughter back."
"And if she's… harmed?"
Victor's expression hardened.
"Then I'll erase him from existence."
The words sounded convincing.
They were not entirely true.
Back at the estate, Lena stood by the window long after Dante left.
Sirens screamed into the night.
She pressed her forehead to the glass, chest aching.
This was the cost of being loved by a monster.
She didn't know which terrified her more, the father who claimed to want her back, or the man who kept her safe while the world burned outside.
Somewhere below, the city bled.
And the war had only just begun.