Chapter 2 - The Whispers of Red Hook
The salt wind coming off the Upper New York Bay carried the stench of diesel fuel, rotting seaweed, and wet iron. Rain fell in steady, freezing sheets across the sprawling asphalt expanse of the Red Hook Container Terminal, turning the oil slicks between the giant gantry cranes into shimmering puddles of violet and black.
Vincent Falcone sat inside his corner office on the second floor of the terminal administration building. He was fifty-two years old, built like a fire hydrant, with slicked-back graying hair, a diamond pinky ring that caught the fluorescent light, and a tailored wool trench coat draped over the back of his leather swivel chair. Across the desk sat two men in dark windbreakers: Marco and Sal, his primary enforcers along the Brooklyn waterfront.
"You told me the girl was dead two months ago, Marco," Vincent said, his voice a low, raspy growl as he swirled a tumbler of scotch. "You told me the car burned to the frame and the dental charts were swapped before the state police even pulled the chassis out of the ravine."
Marco wiped rainwater from his forehead, his knuckles white against his knees. "The car did burn, Boss! The Donnelly broad was inside, wearing Mrs. DeLuca’s jewelry and her watch. We did the swap behind the diner off Route 9 just like you ordered! Isabella was knocked out cold from the collision; we threw her in the trunk of the secondary sedan to dump her in the bay later, but when Sal stopped at the gas station on the turnpike, the trunk latch gave out. The dog broke the trunk interior release and they both vanished into the marsh before we could pull our pieces!"
"And you didn't tell me?" Vincent slammed the heavy glass onto the mahogany desk. The amber liquor splashed across a stack of shipping manifests. "You let her wander around the rail yards for eight weeks while Lorenzo was walking around like a ghost? You think Lorenzo won't notice if his own wife shows up on the morning news?"
"She was half-dead, Vincent!" Sal protested, his voice cracking with fear. "Her head took a beating against the steering wheel. She had broken ribs and no shoes! We searched the rail yards for four straight days! We thought she crawled into an empty grain hopper and froze to death!"
"Well, she didn't freeze!" Vincent snarled, standing up so abruptly his chair screeched against the laminate floor. "My contact in the precinct told me Detective Ortiz just reopened the crash file under a sealed grand jury warrant. Ortiz was at the estate this morning. Lorenzo has his security detail locked down around the housekeeper’s wing."
Marco’s eyes widened. "The housekeeper? Sophia?"
"Sophia’s kid saw something," Vincent said, his face darkening with murderous intent. "The girl was down by the old freight depot on Thursday. Lorenzo isn't stupid. If the kid recognized Isabella or that damn dog, Lorenzo will tear this city apart with his bare hands before the weekend."
Vincent pulled a heavy steel key from his pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, retrieving a black encrypted satellite radio.
"Call the crew in Jersey," Vincent commanded, tossing the radio to Marco. "Tell them to bring four sweep teams down to the old rail spurs along the Bushwick branch. We scour every warehouse, every abandoned siding, and every sewer line between Grand Avenue and the creek. If you find Isabella, you do not bring her back. You put two in her chest and dump her in the concrete mixer at the concrete plant. And Marco?"
Marco stopped at the door. "Yeah, Boss?"
"Send three men to the estate," Vincent whispered, his eyes cold as slate. "Sophia and the kid need to disappear before Ortiz takes their formal depositions to the prosecutor. Make it look like a gas leak in the staff cottage. Clean, quiet, and complete."
"Consider it done," Marco said, pulling up his hood and stepping out into the storm.
May you like
Vincent turned back to the window, watching the massive container ships moving through the fog in the harbor. He raised his glass to his lips, but his hand was shaking so badly the crystal clicked against his teeth.
For twenty years, he had lived in the shadow of Lorenzo DeLuca’s power. He had watched Lorenzo command billions, marry the most beautiful woman in Manhattan, and rule the five families with cold, untouchable elegance. Vincent had wanted the docks, the money, and the crown. But as he looked out into the rain, he knew that if Lorenzo discovered the truth, the crown would be made of burning iron.
