Chapter 3 - The Warehouse on Pier 4
The rain had returned by midnight, washing over the industrial docks of Brooklyn with a bleak, gray misery. Inside the abandoned shipping warehouse on Pier 4, the only sound was the rhythmic drip-drip of water leaking from the rusted iron rafters and the ragged, terrified breathing of Derek Vance.
He was tied to a heavy metal chair in the center of the concrete floor, his broken wrist crudely wrapped in a dirty rag. A single spotlight hung above him, casting harsh, unforgiving shadows across his bruised face.
The heavy iron doors of the warehouse slid open, and the sound of leather shoes clicking against the concrete echoed through the dark space.
Matteo Moretti walked into the light, his black trench coat damp from the rain. He didn't look angry; he looked like an accountant arriving to balance a spreadsheet. Silas followed a step behind, carrying a small leather case.
"Please!" Derek sobbed, his voice cracking as he strained against the heavy ropes. "I didn't know who she was married to! I swear to God, I didn't know! Norah didn't say anything!"
Matteo stopped two feet from the chair, unbuttoning his coat and handing it to Silas. He stood in his pristine white shirt, looking down at Derek with the cold detachment of a scientist examining a specimen.
"You knew she was married," Matteo said smoothly. "You saw the ring. You saw the stone. You simply believed that your past gave you a title that superseded my present."
"I was drunk! I'll leave the city! I'll never look at her again, I swear!"
Matteo ignored the pleas. He turned to Silas, who opened the leather case to reveal an array of clean, surgical instruments—scalpels, forceps, and heavy silver needles.
"The Romano family paid your gambling debts yesterday morning, Derek," Matteo said, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly quiet register. "A small street mouse like you doesn't just happen to find my wife in a quiet café by accident. You were given her schedule. You were told to create a scene, to see how my security responded. Am I correct?"
Derek’s face drained of what little color it had left. "I don't know what you're talking about! A guy named Leo gave me the cash! He just said he wanted her rattled!"
"Leo is a captain for the Romanos," Silas murmured from the shadows.
Matteo nodded slowly, as if a minor mathematical problem had just been resolved. He reached into the case and selected a long, thin silver probe. "You see, Derek, your mistake wasn't just working for my enemies. Your mistake was touching her neck. When you squeeze a woman’s throat, you leave marks. And I do not like my property to be marked by others."
"Wait! No! Please—"
"Silas," Matteo said, stepping back as he rolled his sleeves up further. "Hold his head steady. We are going to have a conversation about the Romano shipping routes. Every lie he tells will cost him a finger. If he runs out of fingers, we move to the wrist."
The screams that followed were swallowed by the roar of the Atlantic ocean against the wooden pilings of the pier. By the time the sun began to rise over the gray skyline of Manhattan, Matteo was back in the rear seat of his SUV, wiping a single speck of dark red blood from his leather cuff with a silk handkerchief.
"The Romanos know about the café," Matteo said to Silas, who was driving. "They don't know about the child yet, but they suspect she is the key to my focus. Double the guards at the gate. Tell the stable master that Norah is not permitted near the horses until further notice."
May you like
"And the boy, Don Matteo?" Silas asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror.
"He won't be walking for a very long time," Matteo said coldly. "Send what's left of him to Silvano Romano’s doorstep with a note. Tell him that the next time his people cross the river, I won't stop at the fingers."
