Chapter 4 - The Fire Next Time
By 2:00 AM, the Boston harbor looked like a war zone.
The Marcone family’s primary warehouse district along the East Boston waterfront was engulfed in roaring, amber flames. Thick black smoke billowed into the snowy sky, masking the sound of gunfire and shattering glass.
I stood on the snowy concrete of the pier, leaning on my cane, watching two of my senior enforcers kick open the heavy iron doors of the Marcone stronghold.
Salvatore Marcone—a bloated, arrogant thug who thought a fancy tailored suit made him a king—was dragged out onto the ice by his collar, bleeding from a gash across his forehead.
“Pembroke!” Marcone spat, thrashing against my men. “You insane old bastard! You’re burning down millions in contraband over a fucking maintenance worker and a brat?!”
I walked slowly toward him, my leather shoes crunching softly in the fresh snow. The freezing wind whipped my heavy wool coat around my ankles, but I didn't feel the cold. I only felt the pure, intoxicating rush of absolute power.
I stopped right in front of him, leaning down slightly so he could look into my eyes.
“You touched my house, Salvatore,” I said softly, my voice barely carrying over the roar of the burning warehouse. “You threatened a child who gave an old man his coat when he was cold.”
Marcone sneered, blood dripping from his nose. “He’s a nobody! A charity case! You’re risking everything for a peasant—!”
“A peasant?” I interrupted, my voice dropping into a lethal purr. “That boy showed more humanity in five seconds than your entire bloodline has displayed in a century. And you thought you could use his father as a weapon against me?”
I straightened up and nodded to Vincent.
“Burn the rest of their holdings to the ground,” I ordered coldly. “Take their shipping routes, freeze their bank accounts, and pick apart their organization piece by piece until there is nothing left of the Marcone name except a gravestone in Dorchester.”
“No, wait! Pembroke, please—!” Marcone shrieked as my men hauled him toward the black town car.
I turned my back on him, walking slowly toward my waiting vehicle. The war had begun, and the Marcone family’s days in Boston were numbered.
But as I slid into the warm leather interior of my car, a cold knot suddenly twisted in my stomach.
May you like
I had left Samuel and Theo back at the estate. I had trusted my fortress walls.
I didn't account for the traitor within my own ranks.
