Chapter 7 - The Confrontation at the Vault
By 4:30 AM, the rain had cleared, leaving the city streets glistening like wet asphalt under the streetlights.
I returned to the Cobalt Lounge.
The main bar was silent. Gabe stood near the cellar entrance, a bloody brass knuckle tucked into his belt, waiting for me.
"Is it done at the docks, Boss?" Gabe asked grimly.
"Moretti is gone," I said, taking off my leather gloves and tossing them onto the bar counter. "His lieutenants have surrendered the shipping accounts. The northern district is ours."
"What about Callahan down in the ice room?"
I paused, looking down at the heavy steel door. "Bring him up."
Five minutes later, Tommy was dragged into the middle of the empty lounge. He was bruised, shivering uncontrollably from four hours in the sub-zero meat locker, his expensive suit soaked with dirty ice melt.
He collapsed onto his knees in front of the bar, coughing raspy, shallow breaths.
"Leo..." Tommy gasped, looking up at me with sunken, bloodshot eyes. "Please... man... we were brothers..."
"Brothers don't sell each other's wives for real estate, Tommy," I said, leaning against the bar counter, looking down at him with cold detachment.
"I was jealous!" Tommy suddenly shrieked, weeping openly as his mind finally broke under the weight of his defeat. "Alright?! Is that what you want to hear?! I built this syndicate with you! I caught bullets for you! But every time we made a dollar, you gave half of it to her! You bought her brownstones! You took her to Europe! And what did I get?! Second place! Always second place!"
I stared at him, feeling a deep, hollow pity wash over my chest.
"You had everything, Tommy," I said softly. "You had twenty percent of this entire city. You had my trust. You had a place at my table for life. But your greed made you blind."
The private elevator chimed.
The doors opened, and Clara walked out.
She had ignored Dr. Evans’ orders to rest. She was wearing my thick wool coat over her clothes, her hand resting over her belly, walking slowly into the dim light of the lounge.
Tommy turned his head, staring at her like a man looking at an executioner.
Clara stopped five feet from him. She didn't look afraid anymore. The terror that had consumed her when she dropped that glass three hours ago was gone, replaced by a quiet, fierce strength.
"I remember the green curtains now," Clara said softly, her voice steady in the silent room.
Tommy swallowed hard, unable to meet her eyes.
"I remember the smell of your cheap cigar," Clara continued, stepping closer to him. "I remember you coming into that room in Newark every Tuesday... telling me that Leo didn't want me anymore. Telling me he had found another woman. Telling me my baby was going to die in a state ward."
Tommy shook his head weakly. "Clara... I... I was protecting—"
"You're a coward," Clara cut him off, her voice ringing clear and strong through the Cobalt Lounge. "My husband loved me enough to go to war for my memory. You couldn't even look me in the eye when I was bleeding on his floor."
She turned her face toward me, her eyes filling with a radiant, unforgettable warmth.
"Take me home, Leo," she whispered.
I looked at Gabe.
May you like
"Put Tommy on a cargo ship to South America," I ordered calmly. "No money. No passport. No name. If he ever sets foot on North American soil again, kill him."
Gabe grabbed Tommy by his collar, dragging him screaming out the back service exit into the dark morning air.
