Chapter 4 - The Serpent in the Garden
The wind tore at my coat, snapping the dark fabric against my shins like a whip.
“You traded my wife for a seat at the Lucchese table,” I said, my voice cutting through the roar of the helicopter blades as I stepped out onto the helipad concrete, keeping my pistol locked dead center on Vincent Moretti’s chest.
Vincent didn't flinch. He didn't drop his briefcase or reach for his own weapon. He just exhaled a thin stream of gray smoke into the freezing night air, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine white shirt.
“Traded Isabelle?” Vincent laughed, a dry, hollow sound that made the skin on the back of my neck crawl. “Dominic, you wound me. I didn't trade her. I ordered her execution.”
The world stopped spinning. The roar of the engines faded into a distant hum.
“Why?” I whispered, the single word dripping with a lethal, concentrated venom that could have melted steel.
“Because you were getting soft,” Vincent said, taking another calm step closer, ignoring the black barrel of the gun inches from his sternum. “Ever since you married her—ever since you started popping out little girls and trying to turn this syndicate into a legitimate real estate holding company—you lost your edge. You stopped expanding into Boston. You stopped squeezing the docks. The council was losing millions because our Boss was busy playing suburban daddy.”
“She had nothing to do with the business,” I said, my finger tightening on the trigger. One millimeter of pressure, and I would scatter his brains across the landing pad.
“She had everything to do with you,” Vincent corrected, his eyes flashing with sudden, cold ambition. “And she knew it. Do you remember the week before she died? She caught us looking at offshore routing papers in this very study. She threatened to pack up the girls and go to the FBI if you didn't step down from the syndicate. She was going to destroy everything we built, Dominic. I simply did what any good consigliere would do to preserve the family.”
“The family?” I roared, the rage finally breaking through the ice in my veins. “You slaughtered the mother of my children outside a preschool while my girls watched from the back of the car!”
“Collateral damage,” Vincent shrugged smoothly. “Just like you’re about to be.”
Before I could pull the trigger, the side door of the Eurocopter slid open with a violent snap. Two men in heavy tactical gear stepped out onto the running board, automatic rifles raised, their laser sights painting red dots across my chest.
At the same time, a sharp click echoed from behind me.
I froze.
“Drop the piece, Dominic,” a cold, unfamiliar voice muttered near my left ear, accompanied by the hard, biting cold of a barrel pressed firmly against the base of my skull.
A second assassin had slipped up the fire escape behind the helipad while I was focused on Vincent.
Vincent smiled, stepping backward toward the open cabin door of the helicopter. He adjusted his silk tie, looking at me with absolute, pitying contempt.
“It’s been a good run, old friend,” Vincent said, climbing into the leather seat of the chopper. “Give my regards to the girls when they come out of the basement. Tell them Uncle Vince sends his best.”
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The cabin door slammed shut. The landing gear lifted off the concrete with a sudden, violent burst of downdraft that nearly knocked me off my feet. The Eurocopter banked sharply to the left, banking over the dark tree line and disappearing into the starless Greenwich sky.
And I was left standing on the roof with a gun pressed to my head and two seconds to live.
