Chapter 3 - THE VAULT
The basement door splintered inward.
Noah scrambled backward, burying himself under the pile of damp tablecloths. Vincent stood perfectly still in the shadows, the snub-nosed revolver leveled at the doorway.
A flashlight beam cut through the gloom.
"Vince?" a voice called out. It was a raspy, familiar voice. "Vince, it’s Sal. Lower the piece."
Sal. Vincent’s underboss. His oldest friend. The man who had taught Vincent how to tie his first tie. Sal stepped into the basement, lowering his weapon. He looked frantic.
"Jesus, Vince, it’s a bloodbath up there," Sal breathed, rushing forward. "They hit the kitchen, they hit the elevators. I came down the service stairs the second the lights went out. We gotta move. I got a car out back."
Vincent slowly lowered his revolver. But he didn't put it away.
"How did you know I was down here, Sal?" Vincent asked. His voice was dangerously calm.
"The laundry chute," Sal said, gesturing behind him. "It’s the only blind spot in the dining room. I figured you’d use it. Come on, the kid too."
Noah peeked out from under the linens. Sal smiled at him, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Vincent took a step toward Sal. "Where's Vivienne?"
"Gone," Sal spat. "Slipped out through the river hall before the shooting started. She set you up, Vince. I always told you she was no good."
Vincent nodded slowly. "You did. You always said that."
He walked past Sal toward the rear exit. Sal fell into step right behind him.
Noah scrambled out of the linens to follow. As he did, his foot kicked something on the floor. It was a silver dessert fork.
Noah stopped.
He stared at the fork. It was identical to the one Vivienne had used to signal the hitmen upstairs. But Vivienne hadn't come down here.
Sal had.
Noah looked up. Sal was walking directly behind Vincent, his gun still drawn, the barrel slowly raising toward the back of Vincent's head.
"Mr. DeLuca!" Noah screamed.
Vincent dropped to one knee instantly. Sal’s gun fired, the bullet chewing into the concrete wall right where Vincent’s skull had just been.
Before Sal could adjust his aim, Vincent spun on his heel and drove his elbow upward, shattering Sal’s jaw. The older man collapsed, his gun skittering across the floor.
Vincent stood over his oldest friend, his chest heaving. The silence in the basement was suffocating.
"Why, Sal?" Vincent asked, his voice cracking just a fraction.
Sal spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. He looked up at Vincent and started laughing. It was a wet, ugly sound.
"Because you went soft, Vince," Sal wheezed. "You brought a woman into the inner circle. You gave her the codes. You gave her the keys."
"She doesn't have the vault codes," Vincent said coldly.
"She doesn't need them," Sal grinned. "She’s got something better. She’s got collateral."
Sal reached into his coat pocket with a trembling hand. Vincent tensed, aiming his revolver, but Sal only pulled out a folded photograph. He tossed it at Vincent’s feet.
Vincent didn't pick it up. He just stared at it.
Noah crept closer. He looked down at the photograph.
His stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
It wasn't a picture of money. Or drugs. Or rival bosses.
It was a picture of a small, worn apartment. A woman with tired eyes was standing at a stove, pouring soup into a bowl.
It was Noah’s mother.
"They watched the kid all week," Sal gasped, clutching his broken jaw. "Vivienne figured the boy saw too much during his shifts. She sent a crew to the apartment twenty minutes ago. If you don't empty the offshore accounts by midnight, the kid's mother is dead."
Noah couldn't breathe. The basement walls felt like they were crushing him. He looked at Vincent, tears finally spilling hot down his cheeks.
Vincent stared at the photo, his jaw clenched tight enough to break teeth. Then, he looked at Noah. The cold mafia boss was gone. In his eyes was a terrifying, quiet fury.
"Sal," Vincent whispered. "Who has the mother?"
"You're already too late, Vince," Sal laughed.
Vincent raised his gun. "I wasn't asking for a timeline."
A single shot rang out in the basement.
May you like
Vincent holstered his weapon, grabbed the photograph, and took Noah's hand.
"We have three hours," Vincent said. "Show me where you live."
