Chapter 4 - The Confession of Dominic Vesceri
Dominic hung three inches above the floor, his face turning an agonizing, mottled shade of dark purple, his hands clawing uselessly at Vincent’s tattooed forearm.
"Where are the offshore ledgers, Dominic?" Vincent asked softly.
"In... in the safe deposit box..." Dominic choked out, his vocal cords rattling beneath Vincent’s grip. "Key... key 408... the USB drives... everything is inside..."
"And who else in my syndicate took Vance's money?"
"Paulie... Paulie Moretti in Brooklyn..." Dominic wheezed, his eyes rolling back into his head. "And Arthur Vance... the port inspector..."
Vincent did not throw Dominic through the glass window.
He did not break his neck.
He released his grip with cold, clinical precision, letting the disgraced consigliere drop onto the hardwood floor like a sack of wet laundry, gasping and coughing for air.
Vincent pulled his satellite phone from his jacket pocket, pressing speed-dial one.
"Marco," Vincent commanded into the microphone.
"Yes, Don Vincent?" his chief of security answered from the lower monitoring suite.
"Deploy the strike teams across the five boroughs," Vincent said, his baritone steady as an iron tomb. "Seize Paulie Moretti at the Red Hook terminal. Detain Arthur Vance at his residence in Queens. And call Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Reed. Tell him the Moretti family is delivering thirty-six counts of capital murder, federal racketeering, and corporate treason to his office before midnight."
"Yes, Boss," Marco replied without a second of hesitation.
Vincent looked down at the weeping, ruined traitor crawling on the floorboards.
"You wanted an empire, Dominic," Vincent said softly. "Now you will spend the rest of your natural days in an eight-by-ten concrete box in ADX Florence, listening to the sound of your own breathing in the dark."
Four armed tactical operators in black ballistic gear swept through the dining room doors, their carbines held at the high ready, clicking heavy steel transport chains around Dominic Vesceri’s wrists and ankles.
May you like
As they dragged the screaming, sniveling predator toward the private service elevator, Vincent turned toward the master suite doors.
He smoothed down the lapels of his charcoal blazer, took a slow, deep breath, and opened the door to bring his daughter back into the light.
