Chapter 3 - The Cold Cellar
The wine cellar beneath the Moretti estate was built into the deep bedrock of Long Island—a sprawling labyrinth of arched stone, oak barrels, and iron gates. It was cold, dark, and utterly isolated from the world above.
In the center of the central chamber, illuminated by a single glaring halogen work light, a man was strapped to a heavy iron chair. His face was bloody, his tactical jacket torn, and across his left collarbone, a crude red tattoo of a coiled viper was smeared with grease and mud.
His name was Yuri, a mid-level enforcer for the Lucheski Syndicate.
Aleandro walked into the chamber slowly, his dark leather shoes clicking against the damp stone floor. He didn't carry a weapon in his hand. He carried only a white linen handkerchief, which he used to carefully wipe a smudge of dust from his watchless wrist.
Marco stood behind the chair, his arms crossed, his shadow stretching long against the stone wall.
"Don Aleandro," Yuri spat, coughing up a mixture of blood and saliva onto the floor. "You think... you think you can hold me here? Fyodor knows where I am. If I don't check in by five in the morning, thirty men will be at your gates!"
Aleandro didn't answer. He walked over to a small wooden table, pulled out a second wooden chair, and sat down directly in front of the bound Russian. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at the man with a cold, almost academic curiosity.
"You went to an apartment in Queens yesterday," Aleandro said, his voice smooth and conversational. "You frightened a young woman. You made a three-year-old child hide in a laundry basket."
Yuri froze. His arrogant expression faltered for a fraction of a second before he tried to mask it with a sneer. "I don't know what you're talking about, Moretti. We were just checking your perimeter—"
BANG.
Aleandro hadn't even drawn his gun. Marco had simply stepped forward and driven the butt of his rifle hard into Yuri’s knee joint.
The Russian let out an agonizing scream that bounced off the stone arches, his body contorting against the thick leather straps holding him to the chair.
"My time is very limited tonight, Yuri," Aleandro said softly, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "Upstairs, my son is sleeping. I do not like to keep my son waiting. So let us skip the grand speeches."
Yuri panted heavily, tears of pain cutting clean tracks through the dirt on his cheeks. "Your... your son?" he stammered, staring at Aleandro in horror. "The... the girl... Clara Vance... she had your child?"
"Where is she?" Aleandro asked.
"We... we don't have her!" Yuri gasped, his lungs fighting for air. "I swear to God, Moretti! We went to the apartment because Fyodor found out she had Arthur Vance's old private ledger—the one with the offshore accounts and the names of every corrupt official in the city! We wanted the ledger!"
"And Clara?" Marco growled from behind the chair.
"She ran!" Yuri cried out, clutching his shattered knee as best he could against the straps. "She knew we were coming! She grabbed the kid and the ledger and took off through the fire escape before we could breach the back door! We lost her in the subway system!"
Aleandro studied the man's face. He knew when a man was lying to save his life, and he knew when a man was telling the truth out of sheer, unadulterated terror. Yuri was telling the truth.
"If she escaped you in Queens," Aleandro said, leaning closer, "why did your team follow her to Grand Central? And why were you at my perimeter tonight?"
"Because she called Fyodor!" Yuri wept, his spirit completely broken. "She called him from a payphone near the station at six o'clock! She told him... she told him she would trade the ledger for her life! She set a meet for midnight at the old meatpacking warehouse on Pier 42! Fyodor sent us here just to verify if she had really dumped the kid on you... he wanted to know if you were involved!"
Aleandro stood up slowly. He adjusted his shirt collar, stepping back from the blood on the floor.
"Fyodor thinks he is going to meet a helpless woman at Pier 42 and take her ledger," Aleandro said softly.
"He... he brought fifteen men, Moretti!" Yuri choked out, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. "He's going to kill her the moment she hands over the book! Please... I told you everything! Let me go!"
Aleandro didn't look back as he walked toward the heavy cellar door.
"Marco," Aleandro said quietly.
"Yes, Don Aleandro?"
"Clean the cellar. And tell the convoy drivers to warm up the armored Suburbans."
May you like
"Where are we going, boss?" Marco asked, pulling a heavy silver suppressor from his pocket and screwing it onto his handgun.
Aleandro stopped at the threshold, looking back into the dark stone room. "To Pier 42. It seems my son's mother needs an escort."
