Chapter 6 - THE WAREHOUSE ON PIER 4
The docks smelled of salt, rusted iron, and decay.
I parked the station wagon two blocks from Pier 4.
The heavy coat felt suffocating, but the weight of the gun in my pocket grounded me.
I was Eleanor Moretti.
For thirty years, I had hosted dinners for killers, smiled at thieves, and poured coffee for men who ordered executions between bites of cannoli.
I knew how these men thought. I knew their pride was their weakness.
I walked straight up to the heavy steel doors of the warehouse.
Two large men in dark suits stepped out of the shadows.
“Lost, lady?” one sneered.
I didn't flinch.
“Tell Bianca Russo that Eleanor Moretti is here. And tell her I brought the real ledger.”
The men exchanged a look. One tapped his earpiece.
A moment later, the heavy door groaned open.
I stepped inside.
The warehouse was massive and dimly lit by overhead industrial lamps.
In the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair, was Vincent.
His face was bruised, his lip split.
When he saw me, his eyes filled with absolute terror.
“Ellie! No!” he screamed against the ropes. “Run!”
Bianca stepped out from the shadows.
She was no longer wearing the red silk dress. She wore sharp black pants and a leather jacket.
Beside her stood a tall, cruel-looking man. Her brother, Marco.
“Well, well,” Bianca smiled. “The devoted wife couldn't stay away.”
“Let him go, Bianca,” I said, my voice echoing in the cavernous space.
Marco laughed. “You're in no position to make demands, old woman. Do you have the ledger or not?”
I pulled the small black book from my pocket.
Vincent's fake ledger. The list of payments to Clara.
“Right here,” I said.
Bianca's eyes locked onto it greedily.
“Bring it here,” she commanded.
I took three steps forward.
“First, you let him up.”
“You don't negotiate here!” Marco snapped, pulling his gun.
“Actually, I do,” I said coldly. “Because if I don't walk out of here in ten minutes, a copy of this book goes to the District Attorney. And we both know your family can't survive another federal indictment.”
Marco hesitated.
Bianca glared at me. She walked over to Vincent and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back.
“He doesn't love you, Eleanor. He gave up everything for me.”
“He gave up his money to keep you quiet,” I corrected her. “There's a difference.”
I looked into Bianca's eyes.
“You wanted to humiliate me tonight. You wanted me to feel as small and powerless as you felt when your father forced you into my husband's bed.”
Bianca's face faltered.
The truth hit her like a physical blow.
“Shut up,” she hissed.
“He never loved you, Bianca. He just pitied you.”
With a scream of rage, Bianca lunged forward, snatching the black book from my hand.
She opened it.
Her eyes scanned the pages.
“This... this isn't a ledger,” she stammered. “Marco, it's just bank transfers to some girl named Clara!”
Marco turned his gun on me. “You stupid bitch.”
But I wasn't looking at Marco.
I was looking at the dark corner behind him.
“Drop the gun, Marco,” a voice echoed from the shadows.
Marco spun around.
Standing in the light was a dozen armed men.
But they weren't Russo men.
They were Vincent's lieutenants. The men who had been loyal to my husband for thirty years.
And leading them, holding a shotgun, was Sal.
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“How?” Bianca whispered, backing away.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the solid gold pocket watch.
