Chapter 6 - the shadow boss
Richard blinked, confused by the strange, icy amusement in Vincent’s tone. "You... you drive for the Carbone estate. You’re their personal chauffeur. Everyone knows that. Emily told us you worked private security and transport."
Marco let out a low, dry chuckle from the doorway.
Vincent stood up slowly. Standing at six-foot-two, with his broad shoulders and muscular build, he towered over the broken man in the chair. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy gold signet ring engraved with a coiled viper and a crossed blade, and slipped it onto his right ring finger.
Richard’s eyes fell on the ring, and then traveled up to the dark, intricate ink climbing Vincent’s neck—the specific markings of the Moretti syndicate, an organization that controlled every dock, every freight terminal, and every private debt collection network from Philadelphia to Boston.
Richard’s face drained of what little color it had left. His lips trembled, his breath hitching in his chest.
"The Carbone estate doesn't employ me, Richard," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on the back of Diane’s neck stand up. "They answer to me. I haven't driven a car for anyone else in fifteen years. The only reason I keep that cover is so my wife and my son can live in peace, away from the blood that paid for this life."
Diane dropped to her knees on the floor, her hands clasped in front of her chest, sobbing uncontrollably. "Vincent... please... we didn't know! Oh God, we didn't know who you were! Please, have mercy! We’re family!"
"Family," Vincent echoed, looking down at her with pure disgust. "Family doesn't poison a nursing mother. Family doesn't put a sedative into the bottle of a seven-day-old baby."
He turned to Marco. "Open the door."
Marco turned the handle and pushed the door open. Standing outside in the corridor were two plainclothes detectives from the municipal police department, accompanied by four uniformed officers and the hospital’s chief of security. Behind them stood Dr. Claire Bennett, holding a thick medical folder containing Noah’s toxicology results and Emily’s emergency blood panels.
"Detectives," Vincent said, stepping aside with effortless authority. "Emily Moretti’s uncle and aunt have just confessed to the premeditated administration of controlled substances with intent to commit double homicide. The digital recordings, the physical medication bottles, and the chemical analysis from your lab are already cataloged."
The lead detective, a grizzled man in his fifties named Miller, looked from Vincent to the two suspects on the floor. He didn't ask questions about Vincent’s tattoos or the aura of absolute control the man projected. In this city, certain men were simply accommodated.
"Richard Hale, Diane Hale, get up," Detective Miller said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You’re under arrest for attempted murder, aggravated child abuse, and distribution of a Schedule II controlled substance. You have the right to remain silent..."
As the officers moved in, snapping the cuffs around Richard’s wrists and hoisting Diane up from the floor, Richard looked back at Vincent, his eyes wide with a frantic, animal terror.
"Vincent! Don't let them take us to the county jail!" Richard pleaded, struggling against the officer’s grip. "The people I owe money to... they run the cell blocks in county! If I go in there without paying them, I won't last a week!"
Vincent met his gaze with absolute, unyielding coldness.
May you like
"I know," Vincent said softly. "I own the debt, Richard."
Richard went limp, his knees buckling as the officers dragged him down the hallway. Diane’s hysterical wails echoed off the linoleum walls until the heavy double doors of the elevator swallowed them whole.
