Chapter 7 - THE VOICE ON THE PHONE
The cell phone vibrated violently against the plastic cup holder, the name MORETTI flashing like a red warning light in the dark cabin of the SUV.
Vincent stared at it. The absolute exhaustion etched into his pale face morphed into a cold, terrifying resolve. He reached across the console with his good arm and answered the call, hitting the speakerphone button so Clara could hear.
“Carmine,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a lethal octave.
A deep, cultured chuckle echoed through the phone. It was a voice that commanded empires, smooth and completely devoid of panic.
“Vincent, my boy,” Don Carmine Moretti said gently. “It has been far too long. I hear you’ve had a busy night. Firing your fiancée, assaulting your underboss, and running through train stations. You must be exhausted.”
“I know what you did to Elena,” Vincent snarled, his fingers gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Elena was a tragedy,” Carmine sighed, though there was no real grief in his tone. “She was my daughter, Vincent. Blood of my blood. But she forgot her loyalties. She fell in love with a street thug playing dress-up, and she stole something very precious from me.”
“The flash drive,” Vincent stated.
“Yes. The drive containing the ledgers of every politician, judge, and police commissioner on my payroll,” Carmine said, his voice hardening. “Rosalind tells me you found her little scavenger hunt. But she also tells me you don't have the drive.”
Clara’s heart hammered against her ribs. She instinctively closed her hand around the tiny black USB drive she had just pulled from Sophie’s coat, hiding it from view even though Carmine couldn't see her.
“You’re right, Carmine. I don't have it,” Vincent lied effortlessly. “And neither does Rosalind. Elena hid it too well.”
“A pity,” Carmine murmured. “Because I was going to offer a trade. The flash drive... for the life of your little housemaid’s father.”
The blood completely drained from Clara’s face. She stopped breathing.
“What are you talking about?” Vincent demanded, glancing sharply at Clara.
“Clara Ellis,” Carmine read smoothly from a file. “Twenty-four years old. Takes care of your daughter. She works three jobs to pay for the medical care of her father, Robert Ellis, who is currently residing in Room 412 at St. Jude’s Hospice Care.”
A terrifying, muffled sound came through the phone. The sound of an old man crying out in pain, followed by a harsh thud.
“Dad!” Clara screamed, lunging toward the phone, tears instantly flooding her eyes.
“Ah, Clara. I’m glad you’re listening,” Carmine smiled cruelly. “My men are currently keeping your father company. He’s quite frail. I don't think his heart could take much stress.”
“Don't you touch him!” Clara sobbed, her hands shaking violently. “He has nothing to do with this!”
“He has everything to do with it, my dear, because you are currently sitting in a car with the man who can save his life,” Carmine said.
Carmine’s voice shifted, dropping the cultured facade, revealing the absolute monster beneath.
“Vincent. You have exactly one hour to bring me the flash drive. Bring it to Pier 44 at the old shipyard. Come alone. If you are one minute late, or if you bring police, I will have my men throw Robert Ellis out of his fourth-floor hospital window. Do we understand each other?”
The line went dead.
The dial tone echoed loudly in the quiet SUV.
Clara collapsed back into the passenger seat, covering her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Her father was the only family she had left. He was sick, defenseless, and now he was going to be murdered because she took a job cleaning a mafia boss’s house.
“Clara,” Vincent said softly.
“They’re going to kill him,” Clara wept, her chest heaving with panic. “Mr. Hale, we have to call the police! We have to send a SWAT team to the hospital!”
“Carmine owns the police commissioner,” Vincent said grimly. “If I call 911, the dispatch will alert Carmine’s men before the patrol cars even start their engines. Your father will be dead before they breach the lobby.”
“Then what do we do?!” Clara cried, looking at him with desperate, tear-filled eyes.
Vincent looked at the tiny black flash drive clutched in Clara’s trembling hand. It was his ultimate weapon. The key to destroying the family that murdered his wife.
He didn't hesitate for a single second.
“Give me the drive,” Vincent said.
Clara hesitated. “If you give it to him, he’ll kill you, Mr. Hale. It’s your only leverage.”
“I’m not letting an innocent man die for my war,” Vincent said fiercely. He reached over and took the flash drive from her hand. “I’m going to Pier 44. I’ll make the trade.”
“No,” Clara shook her head rapidly. “Carmine won't honor a trade. He’ll take the drive and kill you anyway. And once you’re dead, he’ll kill my father to tie up loose ends.”
Vincent knew she was right. Carmine Moretti left no survivors.
“Clara, I don't have a choice,” Vincent sighed, the weight of the impossible decision crushing him.
Suddenly, a small, quiet voice spoke from the backseat.
“I have an idea.”
Clara and Vincent both turned around.
Sophie was sitting up, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She was holding her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest.
“Sophie, sweetheart, go back to sleep,” Vincent said gently. “The adults are talking.”
“But I heard the bad man on the phone,” Sophie said, her small face surprisingly serious. She pointed to the black USB drive in Vincent’s hand. “Mommy told me a secret about that.”
Vincent froze. “What secret, Sophie?”
Sophie climbed over the center console, sitting between Vincent and Clara.
“Mommy said if the bad men ever found the coat, I should tell them it’s a magic trick,” Sophie explained, her seven-year-old voice sounding eerily calm.
“A magic trick?” Clara asked, her heart pounding.
Sophie nodded. “Mommy said the black stick is a decoy. It’s filled with computer viruses. She told me to say, ‘The real treasure is where the music stops.’”
Vincent and Clara stared at the little girl in absolute shock.
Elena had anticipated this. She knew her father would tear the city apart looking for the flash drive. So she hid a fake one in the most obvious secure location—Sophie’s coat—and booby-trapped it to destroy any computer it was plugged into.
“Where the music stops,” Vincent repeated, his eyes widening as the realization hit him.
He looked at Clara.
“The music box,” Clara gasped. “The one we threw at the lights in the train station.”
“It’s still in pieces on the floor of Locker 402,” Vincent said, his adrenaline surging back, erasing his exhaustion.
“Mr. Hale, if we give Carmine the decoy drive, and it destroys his computers...” Clara panicked.
“He’ll realize we tricked him,” Vincent finished with a grim smile. “Which means we don't give him the decoy. We give the decoy to someone else.”
Vincent reached for his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in three years.
It rang twice before a gruff voice answered.
“Yeah?”
“Marcus,” Vincent said coldly.
“Vincent?” the underboss chuckled darkly. “You’re a hard man to kill. But you’re running out of places to hide.”
“I’m not hiding, Marcus,” Vincent said. “I’m offering a deal. I have the flash drive. The real one.”
Silence fell over the line. Marcus wanted that drive just as badly as Carmine did, to secure his own power in the syndicate.
“I’ll trade it to you for your loyalty,” Vincent lied smoothly. “Meet me at the old steel mill on 5th Street in twenty minutes. Come alone, and the drive is yours.”
Vincent hung up the phone before Marcus could answer.
Clara looked at him, terrified. “You’re sending Marcus to the steel mill? But Carmine told you to go to Pier 44!”
May you like
Vincent started the SUV, throwing it into gear.
“Exactly,” Vincent said, a ruthless, terrifying smirk crossing his face. “Marcus wants the drive to overthrow me. Carmine wants the drive to protect himself. I’m going to make sure they both find exactly what they’re looking for.”
