The First Strike

"Peterson confirmed the inspection schedule?" he asked Antonio, who stood reviewing security protocols on a tablet.

"Yes, sir. He's taking the eight AM shift personally. The documentation shows bananas from Ecuador. Eighteen pallets, approximately 1,800 boxes." Antonio said while swiping through the digital documentation on his tablet. 

May 15th dawned crisp and clear. The perfect weather for maritime operations. 

At the De Luca building in Manhattan, Massimiliano reviewed final logistics from his office, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of a city that remained largely unaware of the shadow economies sustaining its gleaming facade.

He continued. "Standard procedure: container clears customs during day operations, remains secured at Red Hook Terminal until nightfall. Transfer to Queens warehouse begins at 11 PM, with processing scheduled for pre-dawn hours."

Massimiliano nodded, his satisfaction evident in his relaxed posture. This particular supply line had operated flawlessly for years. This was the biggest shipment of the year. It's an annual operation procedure that sets the tone for their underlying shadow business. 

"Security?" Massimiliano asked.

"Eight men at the dock, twelve at the warehouse," Antonio confirmed. "Plus four in transit vehicles—two advance, two following. Communications secured through dedicated channels."

"Good." Massimiliano said with a satisfied tone before turning his attention to legitimate business matters. 

The shipment, now having cleared customs during the day, is now waiting at Red Hook Terminal before transport.

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As midnight approached, Massimiliano received confirmation that the container had been successfully loaded onto their transport vehicles and was beginning its journey through the late-night streets toward the Queens facility. 

With everything proceeding according to plan, he allowed himself to relax as he poured himself a glass of celebratory whiskey.

Until everything changed.

Marco burst into the office without knocking

"Sir," he began, trying to control the panic rising in his chest, "armed interception of the shipment in progress. Multiple casualties reported."

Massimiliano set down his glass, his brow furrowed. "Location?"

"Industrial corridor between Red Hook and Queens. The shipment cleared customs earlier today, departed the terminal on schedule at 11 PM, but encountered a coordinated ambush twenty minutes into transit."

"Our people?" Massimiliano moved toward the secure communications center adjoining his office, Marco and Antonio followed, joining him at his sides.

"Two confirmed dead, three wounded. Driver and navigator unaccounted for." Marco accessed the secure terminal, bringing up real time GPS tracking of their vehicles. "The primary transport diverted from the established route seven minutes ago. Last communication reported multiple vehicles cutting our trucks off. They had at least twelve armed men."

"Our response team?" Massimiliano asked calmly despite the internal calculations racing through his mind.

"Deployed from Queens location, ETA four minutes," Antonio reported, coordinating through his communications device. "We have sixteen men, fully geared. The perimeter team is securing the area to keep civilians out of sight."

Massimiliano studied the display, his mind running through every possible explanation for what the hell was happening. "This isn't a random attack. The timing, the location, the way they deployed…this was planned. They must have gotten intel from someone from the inside."

Betrayal within their organization? Impossible. Who in their right mind would betray one of the most powerful men in underground New York?

"Sir, the command channel from the response team is active." Antonio interrupted.

"Assessment?" 

"Most of the products have been destroyed. We weren't able to salvage anything." A voice coming from the command channel spoke.

"Clarify." Massimiliano demanded with controlled anger.

"Controlled detonation followed by sustained combustion of our product. The remainder appears to have been loaded into secondary vehicles before our arrival."

The pieces clicked together in Massimiliano's mind. This wasn't some crew muscling in on territory or stealing product for themselves. The fact they'd destroyed millions in merchandise while only taking a fraction told him a different story. 

"And we weren't able to chase them down?" Massimiliano questioned.

"Negative. It appeared that they had blocked multiple exits. They clearly prepared this with substantial advance planning."

Massimiliano processed this information, his mind racing through possible enemies. 

The Gambinos? No, they were focused on Atlantic City lately. 

The Russians? They'd been peaceful trading partners. 

The Colombians? No, they'd lose money too. The Triads? They weren't even in this supply chain.

"The Bianchis?" he said aloud as his thoughts drifted to last night's confrontation at Nocturne. Blood, broken noses, public humiliation. Could this be retaliation?

"The Bianchis don't have this kind of tactical capability. Their operations are sloppy, predictable. This was... professional."

This wasn't a standard hijacking, it was a calculated attack designed to inflict maximum financial damage.

"Then who? WHO?" Massimiliano slammed his fist onto his desk, the crystal decanter rattled from the force. "Someone knew exactly when and where our shipment would be. Someone had inside information."

He immediately ordered a security sweep of all their locations, including Nocturne. 

While his men scrambled to implement his orders, Massimiliano continued running through mental lists of potential enemies.

The security team returned from Nocturne hours later with their report. "Sir, we've completed a thorough sweep of the entire club. No surveillance devices found. The place is clean."

"THIRTY MILLION!" he roared, sweeping everything off his desk in one violent motion. His crystal decanter shattered against the wall, important documents scattered across the floor, his computer monitor crashed to the ground. "THIRTY FUCKING MILLION!"

Antonio and Marco stood frozen, not daring to move a single muscle

Massimiliano grabbed a chair and hurled it against the windows, which thankfully were reinforced and didn't shatter.

"FOUR DEAD MEN!" He kicked over another chair, his face contorted with rage. "I WANT WHOEVER DID THIS FOUND AND BROUGHT TO ME! I DON'T CARE WHAT IT TAKES!"

He grabbed his crystal whiskey glass and smashed it against the wall, amber liquid streaming down the expensive wallpaper.

"Sir," Antonio began cautiously.

"DON'T FUCKING 'SIR' ME! ANTONIO" Massimiliano rounded on him, eyes blazing with fury. "FIND THE RESPONSIBLE PARTIES! I WANT THEIR OPERATIONS BURNED TO THE GROUND! I WANT THEIR FAMILIES EITHER IDENTIFIED OR DEAD!"

He punched the wall hard enough to split his knuckles open. Blood smeared across the cream-colored surface as he pulled back his fist.

He turned to his security chiefs, his breathing ragged. "I want a complete investigation. Tear apart every organization in this city if you have to. Find who did this. And when you do, don't act. Bring the information to me directly. This is personal now."

Antonio nodded with obedience. "Yes, sir. We'll find them."

"Get out," Massimiliano ordered, turning away. "Both of you."

When they'd gone, he stood amid the wreckage of his office, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. Someone had dared to challenge the De Lucas. Someone had stolen from them, destroyed their property, killed their men. The audacity of it was breathtaking.

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In her modernist command center nestled among old-growth trees, Tatiana received operation confirmation with professional satisfaction. The screens in her office showed all team members safely extracted, product secured according to orders, and disinformation already spreading to pin the blame on another clan.

"Status report," she instructed, reviewing real-time data streams while maintaining comprehensive awareness of operational security.

Viktor approached with a tablet displaying comprehensive mission metrics. "Mission went about 94% as planned. Two minor injuries among our personnel but nothing requiring external medical intervention. We overshot the destruction target, hit 92% instead of 90%. The remaining 8% is secured and ready for distribution through the usual channels."

Tatiana nodded with satisfaction. 

Their first direct strike against De Luca operations had proceeded nearly flawlessly thanks to the culmination of years of intelligence gathering, resource allocation, and strategic planning.

"And how did his team responded?"

"They've activated their usual crisis protocols," Reza reported from his station. "Tightened security at all known sites. No sign they've linked it to us or Nocturne."

This assessment aligned with expectations. Destroying most of the products—rather than stealing them—distracted Massimiliano from uncovering the motivation behind this heist, while taking just enough to make it seem like a normal robbery. 

Perfect.

"They started a full surveillance sweep at Nocturne about forty minutes after we confirmed the op. Didn't pick up any active devices," Alexei said from his station.

Tatiana absorbed the information, letting it settle before giving a small nod. Seems that they have suspicions regarding Nocturne but the fact that they weren't able to find any devices meant that her team is several steps ahead. 

Of course they wouldn't be able to find anything. Tatiana made sure that the bugs they placed never stay at the same place for more than three hours.

"The financial hit is bigger than we expected," Dmitri reported from the analysis terminal, a hint of satisfaction creeping into his usually neutral tone. "Right now, market estimates put the destroyed product between twenty-seven and thirty-two million wholesale. The supply chain disruption will mess with distribution, probably doubling the financial damage through the lost of secondary revenue."

Tatiana nodded, keeping her focus on the broader strategy. "And the secondary objective?"

"Already in motion," Viktor confirmed, a trace of satisfaction beneath his professional tone. "Early comms monitoring shows De Luca's lieutenants are starting to turn on each other. The Escobar rep is demanding answers about the lost shipment, and it's putting pressure on their supply chain. Two of their distribution managers have already sent out feelers, worried about the organization's stability."

This was the operation's true purpose. Beyond the immediate financial hit, the attack was meant to sow internal friction, strain outside relationships, and shake De Luca's confidence in their own operation.

Tatiana wasn't going to a single catastrophic strike, but rather letting his organisation bleed one cut at a time.

"Excellent." Tatiana said with a satisfied smile.

Yet beneath the professional satisfaction, an unexpected complication surfaced. She watched him through the monitors. Massimiliano stormed into the De Luca building, taking charge of the crisis, running security protocols like he was born for this. Even on the grainy surveillance feed, she could see his controlled fury. Every move confirmed what she already knew—that he was as competent as she'd assessed.

Unwelcome heat bloomed in her chest as she watched him operate. It was the same feeling she had felt at Nocturne during his confrontation with Augusto. It was admiration for his skills. A worthy adversary. A worthy lov…no, she snapped out it, unwilling to finish her thought.

He was a means to an end. He was her ticket to Lorenzo, her window into their weak spots, her leverage. Nothing else. Whatever pull she felt when she looked at him didn't matter. Her focus is revenge.

Phase one was done. The real game was just beginning.