Chapter 7 - THE VENOM OF A DYING SNAKE
Inside the high-security visitor cell at the Metropolitan Correctional Center, Victor Rossi sat across from his high-priced defense attorney, Julian Vance—a distant, corrupt cousin of Audrey’s family who had long been on the syndicate’s payroll.
Victor looked terrible. His skin was sallow, his hair thin and unkempt, his tailored suits replaced by a coarse orange jumpsuit. But his eyes still burned with a toxic, unyielding malice.
“The federal prosecutors have a rock-solid case, Victor,” Julian whispered, leaning across the steel table. “Caleb handed over eight years of financial records, medical logs, and recorded confessions from Dr. Harrison. You’re looking at consecutive life sentences without parole. The judge assigned to the case is Arthur Vance—he can't be bought.”
Victor sneered, slamming his hand onto the table. “I don't care about the trial! I care about destroying him! Caleb thinks he’s safe because he’s standing on his own two legs again? He thinks he can turn my empire into a charity project?!”
“What can you do from in here?” Julian asked nervously. “His estate is a fortress. He’s hired private military contractors to guard the perimeter. You can't touch him.”
Victor leaned in close, his voice dropping to a sinister, raspy whisper. “Caleb made a mistake. He left one piece of the old network open. The shipping cartel in Marseille. They still owe me thirty million dollars from the 2018 smuggling routes. I spoke to their boss, Jean-Luc, through the prison phone network yesterday.”
Julian’s eyes widened. “The French syndicate? They’re butchers, Victor!”
“They are hungry dogs,” Victor corrected with a cold, yellow-toothed smile. “I told Jean-Luc that if he eliminates Caleb Marino and his little bastard daughter before the trial begins, I will sign over my private Swiss accounts to him—sixty million euros in bearer bonds.”
“Victor, if the feds catch wind of a foreign hit team—”
“They won't catch anything until the bodies are cold!” Victor spat. “Jean-Luc is sending his top operative. A man named L’Ombre—The Shadow. He doesn't use guns. He doesn't use bombs. He uses silent, chemical agents. By the time Caleb realizes his estate has been breached, his precious little girl will be cold in her bed.”
Unbeknownst to Victor, every single word spoken inside that visitor cell was being picked up by a microscopic directional microphone concealed within the light fixture above the table.
In a surveillance van parked two blocks away from the prison, Marcus sat wearing heavy headphones. Beside him stood Caleb Marino, dressed in a charcoal suit, leaning lightly on his wooden cane.
Caleb listened to his former consigliere plot the murder of his daughter. His face didn't twist in rage. His eyes didn't flare with panic. Instead, a terrifying, absolute stillness settled over his features—the stillness of a apex predator watching a foolish animal walk into a trap.
Caleb reached over and turned off the recording equipment.
“Boss?” Marcus asked, his hand hovering over his sidearm. “Should we notify the FBI? Have Julian arrested immediately?”
“No,” Caleb said quietly, turning to look out the tinted window at the gray prison walls. “Julian is a pawn. And Jean-Luc’s assassin is already in the city.”
May you like
“What do you want to do, sir?”
Caleb turned to Marcus, his dark eyes gleaming with an ancient, lethal intelligence. “Let the shadow enter the estate, Marcus. It’s time we showed these ghosts what happens when they enter the Harbor King’s home.”
