Chapter 3: The Detroit Gambit**
By 2:00 AM, the mansion was converted into a war room. Floor-to-ceiling monitors lit the dark library with cold blue hues. Damon sat behind his desk, studying the logistics of the Moretti family’s Detroit operation. Beside him, Lily’s drawing remained pinned beneath a brass paperweight—a constant reminder of how fragile their fortress truly was.
"Moretti's crew is holding the kid in an abandoned auto plant off 8 Mile," Marco reported, setting down a tactical dossier. "They’re expecting Victor’s confirmation call at dawn. If they don't get the code word, the kid is dead, and Moretti will know the hit on you failed."
Damon rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the exhaustion settle deep into his bones. His empire had been built on blood and calculated cruelty, but looking down at Lily’s innocent scribbles of medicine bottles, he felt a profound weariness. He was tired of the endless cycle of vengeance that consumed everyone around him. Yet, walking away required finishing this war on his own terms.
"We don't wait for dawn," Damon ordered, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of the computers. "We deploy the private jet to Detroit now. Marco, you lead the strike team to pull the boy out. I will handle Moretti personally right here in Chicago."
"Boss, that leaves you unprotected at the estate," Marco cautioned, his brow furrowing with concern. "If Moretti suspects something and sends a secondary cleanup crew..."
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"Let them come," Damon said coldly, chambering a round into his customized semi-automatic pistol. "They think they are dealing with a dying man. Let them walk into the lion’s den thinking the beast is already asleep. But first, ensure Lily and Clara are moved to the underground vault. Nothing touches that child. Nothing."
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