Chapter 3 - The Blood Executive
The top floor of the Vance Harbor Administration Building commanded a panoramic view of the Chicago port district.
At 1:30 AM, the executive suite was quiet, bathed in the soft blue light of computer monitors and the dark amber glow of the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement forty stories below.
Dominic Vance sat behind my mahogany desk—the desk he had coveted for ten years.
He was thirty-four, sharply dressed in a gray bespoke suit, wearing a platinum Rolex on his wrist. He was sipping my vintage scotch while reviewing the final legal documents that would dissolve my authority over the syndicate's maritime logistics network.
Standing across from him was his personal legal advisor, a corrupt attorney named Arthur Sterling.
"Everything is locked, Dominic," Sterling said, sliding a pen across the desk. "With Julian gone and Isabella confirmed deceased by state records, the board has no choice but to transfer the voting shares to you as senior surviving kin. By 9:00 AM tomorrow, you control eighty-four percent of the port operations."
Dominic leaned back in my leather chair, a slow, arrogant smile spreading across his face. "Two months of waiting in the dark, Sterling. Two months of listening to my cousin's old guards moan about 'loyalty to Julian's memory.' Julian was soft. He let a woman rule his heart. He lost his edge the moment he married Isabella."
"He was effective," Sterling countered mildly. "The syndicate doubled its revenue under his leadership."
"Because he was lucky!" Dominic spat, slamming his glass onto the desk. "I did the real work! I managed the books, I handled the payoffs to the harbor police, and I kept the Morettis off our backs! Julian sat in his country manor playing house!"
Dominic picked up the gold pen, preparing to sign his name to the final share transfer document.
CLICK.
The heavy mahogany double doors of the executive suite unlocked.
The lights in the room suddenly went dark, save for the blue glare of the monitors.
Dominic froze, his pen hovering an inch above the paper. "Sterling? Did you turn off the main breaker?"
"No," Sterling said, sounding panicked as he pulled out his phone. "The security panel just lost power—"
THUD.
The outer office door echoed with a dull heavy sound, followed by the soft, metallic noise of two bodyguards hitting the marble floor outside.
Dominic stood up, pulling a silver snub-nosed revolver from his desk drawer, his face draining of all color. "Who's out there? Security!"
The heavy mahogany doors swung open slowly.
A tall figure stepped into the blue light of the office.
I was soaked with rain. My leather coat was dark with water, my hair plastered to my forehead. In my right hand, I held a heavy tactical flashlight; in my left, my silenced Sig Sauer pointed directly at Dominic's chest.
Dominic dropped his glass of scotch. The crystal shattered against the floor, spilling amber liquid across the expensive rug.
"Ju... Julian...?" Dominic gasped, his knees shaking so violently he had to grab the edge of the desk to stay upright. "No... no, this is impossible... you're... you're dead... you were supposed to be at the country house—"
"I was at the Hudson spur, Dominic," I said, my voice carrying a quiet, terrifying resonance that filled the room like thunder.
Sterling let out a high-pitched squeak of terror, throwing his hands above his head and backing into the corner of the office. "I didn't know anything, Mr. Vance! I swear to God! Dominic paid me to draft the shares! I didn't know about Mrs. Vance!"
I didn't even look at Sterling. My eyes were locked onto my cousin's pale, sweating face.
"You kept her in a freight house for sixty days, Dominic," I said, taking three slow steps forward, my boots squelching slightly on the wet floor. "You let her starve. You chained my dog to a concrete ring. You lied to the state police, forged dental records, and waited for me to pull a trigger on myself so you could take my chair."
Dominic raised his silver revolver with trembling hands. "Stay back, Julian! I swear to God I'll shoot! I have three capos coming up the elevator right now!"
"Your capos are currently tied up in the basement loading bay, Dominic," I informed him flatly. "Marco handled them ten minutes ago."
Dominic's eyes widened in total, paralyzing horror. The illusion of his power, his corporate takeover, his stolen empire—it all vanished in a single instant, leaving him exposed as the weak, cowardly traitor he had always been.
"Julian... please," Dominic whimpered, tears of sheer panic breaking through his arrogance as he dropped the gun onto the desk and raised his hands. "We're family! We share the same blood! Our grandfather built this business together! I... I made a mistake! The Morettis pressed me! They threatened to kill me if I didn't deliver the port contracts!"
"The Morettis didn't tear my wife's coat, Dominic," I said, stepping right up to the desk, pressing the warm barrel of my gun against his forehead. "You did."
"Please... Julian... spare me..." Dominic sobbed, falling to his knees behind the desk, clutching his hands together in desperate prayer. "Send me to Italy! Exile me! I'll never come back to the States! Just don't kill me!"
I looked down at the man who had stolen two months of my life, the man who had subjected Isabella to endless nights of terror in a cold warehouse.
I lowered my weapon slightly.
Dominic let out a gasping breath of hope. "Thank you... thank you, Julian—"
CRACK.
I didn't shoot him. I swung the heavy steel butt of the Sig Sauer straight into the side of his jaw.
Dominic collapsed sideways onto the floor, spitting blood and teeth, groaning in agony as he clutched his broken face.
"Dying tonight is too merciful for you, Dominic," I said, looking down at him with cold detachment. "You are going to live in a dark, damp cell beneath our harbor warehouse in Brooklyn. You are going to wear burlap, eat cold beans from a tin, and every single morning for the rest of your natural life, you are going to look at a photograph of Isabella and remember who put you there."
I turned my attention to Sterling, who was shaking so hard in the corner he looked ready to faint.
"Sterling," I commanded.
"Yes, Mr. Vance! Anything! Please!" Sterling wept.
"Draft a total legal confession detailing every bribe, every forgery, and every treason Dominic executed over the last two years," I ordered. "If it isn't on my desk by 6:00 AM, you will join him in Brooklyn."
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"It will be there by five, sir!" Sterling promised frantically, dropping to his knees to gather his papers.
I turned around, walking out of the executive suite into the stormy night, leaving the ruined remnants of Dominic's betrayal behind me.
