Chapter 49 The Godmother’s Message
Chapter 49 The Godmother’s Message
Nikolai:
The warehouse was still on fire when we arrived. Thick black smoke rising into the night sky, twisting above the docks like a warning from hell. The moment I stepped out of the car, the sharp and suffocating, reeking of ash, melted steel, and burnt gunpowder hit me.
My men already surrounded the scene. Some tried containing the remaining fire while others dragged out damaged crates from the wreckage. The entire place looked like a corpse split open.
This wasn’t no random destruction.
I stood there silently, staring at what remained of one of my largest distribution points in New York.
Some bastard had just declared war on me.
Behind me, Francesca stepped out of the car despite Matthew clearly trying to stop her.
“Nikolai—”
“Get back in the car.”
She kept going, ignoring me completely, and wrapping her coat tighter around herself while surveying the destruction.
“Well,” she murmured softly, “this is dramatic.”
I didn’t answer. My attention stayed fixed on the building. The message was clear enough already. This wasn’t about profit. It wasn’t about territory. It was personal.
Matthew approached from the side.
“From the Godmother, huh?” I asked, as my jaw tightened.
“How cute.” Francesca teased.
I looked at her slowly.
“This isn’t a game.”
Her expression shifted slightly, though not enough to hide the intrigue in her eyes.
“I know that,” she replied calmly. “Which is why I’m asking the obvious question.”
“Which is?”
“Who the hell is the Godmother?”
The title irritated me already. It was too theatrical for my liking. Nobody in New York used titles like that unless they wanted attention. Unless they wanted fear. And judging by the state of the warehouse… it was working.
Matthew crossed his arms. “The attack was precise. Security feeds were looped six minutes before detonation. Minimal casualties because they weren’t trying to wipe everyone out.”
“They were sending a message,” I finished.
“Yes.”
I walked deeper into the wreckage, stepping over broken concrete and twisted metal while the fire continued crackling around us.
One of the surviving guards sat against an ambulance nearby, blood running down the side of his face.
The moment he saw me, he straightened despite the obvious pain.
“Don.”
“Talk.”
He swallowed hard. “They came in fast. Masked, and organised.”
“How many?”
“Maybe twelve.”
That was not enough for a full war operation, but enough for a statement.
“Did you see who led them?”
The man hesitated.
“A woman.”
My steps slowed slightly.
“A woman?” Francesca repeated behind me.
The guard nodded weakly. “She was on the phone with them. She never gave her name. Nobody saw her face. But everyone listened when she spoke.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
I crouched slightly in front of him. “What did she say?”
His breathing became uneven, either from pain or fear.
“She said this was only the beginning.”
Silence settled around us after that.
I stood slowly. A woman. The Godmother. Someone organised enough to strike one of my operations directly and walk away untouched.
My mind moved through possibilities quickly. Russian. Sicilian. Cartel-backed. None of it fit cleanly. And that irritated me more than the attack itself, because I hated variables I couldn’t control.
Francesca moved closer beside me again, lowering her voice. “If you want, I can ask around through my contacts.”
“No.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “No?”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
Her expression flickered sharply. “You think I can’t handle this?”
“I think you like proximity to danger more than danger itself.”
That landed harder than she expected. I could tell by the way her jaw tightened.
“Nikolai—”
“You are not part of this war,” I interrupted coldly. “Do not involve yourself in my operations again.”
Her eyes hardened.
“There was a time you trusted me with everything.”
“And that time, I paid the cost in full.”
Matthew wisely stayed silent.
Francesca stared at me for a long moment before giving a soft, humourless laugh.
“There he is,” she murmured. “The real Nikolai Moretti.”
I ignored that. Instead, I turned back toward the burning structure. Because none of this felt accidental. The timing, the message, not even the choice of warehouse.
Whoever this Godmother was, she wanted my attention personally. And she had it now.
Matthew stepped beside me quietly. “What are your orders?”
I watched flames consume the last standing section of the warehouse roof before answering.
“Double security on every shipment.”
He nodded immediately.
“Rotate guards every four hours. Nobody keeps predictable patterns anymore.”
“Understood.”
“And Matthew?”
“Yes, Don?”
I finally turned toward him fully.
“Find out who the Godmother is.” I demanded rather too calmly. The kind of calm that usually came before bloodshed.
“I don’t care how connected she is. I don’t care who protects her. I want a name.”
The warehouse collapsed inward behind us with a violent crash, sparks flying into the dark sky.
I didn’t flinch, because all I could think about now was revenge. Someone had struck first. Fine, but wars were never decided by the opening move.
And whoever this Godmother was, she had just made the worst mistake of her life.