Chapter 5 - The Glass Room
The second-floor office of the old printing press was a graveyard of abandoned machinery, rotting paper reams, and thick green mold.
The air smelled of wet rust and old ink.
Special Agent Sarah Miller was standing near the center of the room, her high-gain tracking monitor held in both hands, when the blue dots on her screen suddenly stopped moving simultaneously on 8th Avenue.
"What the..." Miller muttered, tapping the glass interface.
A synthesized voice echoed from the monitor’s speaker:
“Destination reached: Metropolitan Transit Authority Garage, Sector 4.”
Miller froze. Her blood turned to ice. "The buses..." she whispered, her face going pale. "He put the transmitters on city buses."
"What did you say?" Marco barked, spinning around from the window.
Before Miller could answer, the heavy reinforced door of the office didn't open—it blew inward in a shower of splintered oak and iron hardware!
Two tear gas canisters clattered across the concrete floor, instantly filling the room with a thick, suffocating cloud of chemical smoke.
Marco gagged, dropping his weapon as he stumbled backward toward the fire exit, but a heavy tactical boot caught him squarely in the chest, hurling him backward across a wooden desk! The desk collapsed under his weight in a shower of splinters and old ledger pages.
Miller drew her federal sidearm, spinning toward the doorway, but before she could acquire a target, a long, scarred arm shot through the smoke, clamped around her wrist with the force of an iron vise, and twisted the weapon cleanly out of her grip.
She was slammed back against a steel support beam, her arm pinned behind her back.
"Special Agent Miller," my voice whispered in her ear—cold, steady, and entirely untroubled by the tear gas. I was wearing a tactical respirator mask. "You have terrible tactical awareness for a senior investigator."
"Torino..." Miller choked out, coughing through the gas. "You're... you're assaulting a federal officer! You're done! The whole district will be down on you by nightfall!"
"There are no federal officers here, Agent Miller," I said, pulling off my respirator as Mateo cleared the tear gas with a portable ventilation fan. "This operation isn't on any FBI registry. You didn't file a RICO request with the Justice Department. You used Marco to set up an illegal extortion ring to seize my commercial holding companies."
Miller stopped struggling. Her eyes darted toward Marco, who was groaning on the floor, coughing up blood and wood dust.
"I know about the Cayman accounts, Miller," I continued, leaning closer so only she could hear me. "I know about the three million dollars Marco promised you from the sale of my harbor piers. You aren't a cop. You're a mugger with a badge."
I let go of her arm, letting her slide down against the steel beam, gasping for fresh air as the smoke cleared.
Marco dragged himself up onto his elbows, his eyes bloodshot, his famous scar twisted into a terrifying mask of rage and fear.
"Vincent..." Marco wheezed, extending a trembling, dirty hand toward me. "Vincent... listen to me... it was her idea! She came to me in prison! She said she could pull the warrants if I gave her your distribution routes!"
I walked over to him slowly, my heavy leather boots echoing on the concrete floor. I didn't draw my gun. I didn't raise my fist. I simply looked down at him—the man who had grown up in the same neighborhood, broken bread at my mother's table, and then tried to sell my life for a percentage of a harbor lease.
"Fifteen years ago, Marco," I said quietly, "I gave you that scar and let you walk away because I remembered your mother's prayers. I thought you would learn. I thought time would make you a man."
"Vincent... please..." Marco wept, clutching my boot. "We're brothers! We're blood!"
"Brothers don't send a seven-year-old girl into a dark garage with a bomb threat," I said, my voice dropping into a register that made even Mateo step back. "You used a child, Marco. You made her run barefoot across oil and concrete because you were too much of a coward to face me yourself."
Marco’s face went completely white. He realized, in that single, terrible second, that there was no trade left to make. No deal to offer. No lie that could save him.
I turned my back on him, walking toward Agent Miller.
"Mateo," I said smoothly.
"Boss?"
"Take Marco to the piers. Let him see the ships one last time before he takes a long swim."
"No! Vincent! NO!" Marco screamed as two of my men dragged him out toward the stairwell, his shrieks echoing down the dark concrete corridors until the heavy iron doors slammed shut.
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I stood over Agent Miller, who was staring up at me in utter terror.
"Now, Miller," I said, pulling a manila folder from inside my coat and tossing it into her lap. "Let's talk about Sophia's adoption papers."
