Chapter 5 - Collateral Damage
The rain had escalated into a full-blown northeaster by the time the black SUV pulled up outside an old, industrial warehouse near the Brooklyn waterfront. This was Victor Cross's stronghold—a place where illegal imports were processed before being distributed through legitimate retail chains.
Inside, the air smelled of salt water, rust, and cheap diesel.
Victor Cross was sitting at a metal desk under a single swinging bulb, counting bundles of illicit cash from a recent shipment when the heavy iron doors were kicked off their rollers.
Six of Alec's personal security detail flooded the room before Victor’s men could even clear their holsters. Within ten seconds, Victor was alone, pinned to his desk with Carmine’s forearm pressed hard against his throat.
"Alec! What the hell is this?" Victor choked out, his face turning a dark shade of crimson. "We’re family! You can’t come into my house like this!"
Alec walked into the light, his shoes stepping over the scattered cash on the floor. He didn't look angry; he looked profoundly bored by his cousin's predictability. He tossed the yellow eviction notice onto Victor's face.
"Do you know what that is, Victor?" Alec asked.
Victor sputtered, throwing the paper off his forehead. "A piece of trash? What do I care about some civilian’s garbage?"
"That 'garbage' belong to a little girl named Mia," Alec said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper as he leaned over the desk. "Her mother cleans the offices where your children’s trust funds are managed. You took two hundred and forty thousand dollars from the maintenance budget to fund your little offshore account, leaving twenty-four families without bread for two months."
Victor let out a harsh, wet laugh. "Are you serious? You’re raiding my operation over the janitors? Alec, you’ve gone soft. Your old man would have shot you for letting some bleeding-heart sob story interfere with the business."
Alec didn't blink. He reached out, grabbed Victor’s hand, and pinned his palm flat against the metal desk. With a single, swift motion, Alec took his fountain pen and drove the heavy metal tip directly through the fleshy part of Victor's hand, pinning it to the wood beneath.
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Victor screamed, a high-pitched, guttural sound that echoed off the corrugated steel walls.
"My father is dead because he forgot that an empire is built from the foundation up," Alec said, his face inches from his cousin’s sweating brow. "If the foundation rots, the tower falls. You stole from me, you used my name to starve children, and you compromised my internal security. Consider this your resignation notice."
