Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Cicero Avenue
The midnight oil burned hot in Vincent’s study. The large oak desk, usually kept pristine, was now covered in layers of old leather-bound books, printed bank statements, and handwritten notes that Tessa had smuggled up from the estate's private archives over the last forty-eight hours.
Vincent sat in his chair, a heavy pair of reading glasses on his nose, his fingers tracing a series of irregular payouts from the Cicero Avenue account. Dominic had been clever; the numbers were masked as routine maintenance fees for the family’s trucking fleet. But Vincent had invented these accounting methods twenty years ago. He could read the hidden theft between the lines like a native language.
"He’s taken three hundred thousand over the last six months," Vincent muttered, slamming his fist down on the desk. "He was setting up his own crew before the shooting even happened. He knew the hit was coming."
Tessa stood by the fireplace, stoking the dying embers with an iron poker. "If he knew about the hit, Mr. Corvino, then he knew which door the Moretti shooters were coming through."
Vincent looked up, his expression turning terrifyingly still. The thought had crossed his mind, but hearing it spoken aloud by the quiet maid made it an absolute, mathematical reality. Dominic hadn't just stepped into his shoes; he had helped clear the path to the closet.
"I need to speak with Silvio," Vincent said. "Silvio is the only captain from the old guard who still remembers what loyalty means. He’s running the West Side warehouses."
"Silvio’s phone is monitored by Dominic’s office," Tessa said, setting the poker down. "If you call him, Dominic will know you are looking at the books."
"Then I need someone to go to him directly," Vincent said, his eyes locking onto her. "Someone who doesn't look like a soldier. Someone who can carry a message without triggering an alarm."
Tessa looked at the heavy leather folder on the desk, then down at her own simple uniform. "The West Side is dangerous at night, sir. Especially for a maid."
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"You aren't just a maid anymore, Tessa," Vincent said, his voice softening by a fraction of a millimeter as he looked at her steady, unyielding face. "You’re the only person in this house who looks at me like a man. If you do this for me, you won't ever have to touch another broom in this city."
Tessa took a deep breath, stepping forward and taking the small, sealed envelope Vincent held out to her. "I don't care about the brooms, Mr. Corvino. I care about the order. My father died under your family's protection when the streets were clean. Dominic will let the small shops burn. I’ll go to Silvio."
