Chapter 5 - The Rising Threat
By Monday morning, the news of Wayne Vance’s sudden disappearance had traveled through the underbelly of Philadelphia like a wildfire. Wayne hadn't been an important man, but he had a brother—Sal Vance—who was a mid-level captain in the Moretti crime family, Elliot’s fiercest rivals for control of the city's western shipping lines.
Elliot sat in his private study, the curtains drawn against the bright morning sun. Marco stood across from his desk, his expression grim as he handed over a folder of intercepted communications.
"Sal Vance is throwing a fit, boss," Marco said, leaning against the heavy leather chair. "He knows Wayne was running his mouth on Westmore Street, and he knows our cars were spotted in the area. He’s already gone to Don Moretti, asking for permission to retaliate for his brother's 'disappearance'."
Elliot opened the folder, his eyes scanning the transcripts of the phone taps.
"Let him ask," Elliot said, his voice cold and indifferent. "Don Moretti is an old man, but he isn't stupid. He won't start a turf war over a low-life like Wayne who was beating a waitress in a rented house. It’s bad for business."
"Moretti might not start it, but Sal is a hothead," Marco warned, shifting his weight. "He’s been trying to find out where the woman and the kid are. He thinks if he can secure the wife, he can force her to tell the police that you kidnapped Wayne."
Elliot’s hand tightened around his gold pen until the metal groaned. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes turning into two shards of polished flint.
"Where is Clara now?" Elliot asked.
"Harding’s private clinic in Cherry Hill," Marco replied. "We’ve got four men on the door, twenty-four hours a day. She hasn't regained consciousness yet, but the vitals are improving. The doctor thinks she might wake up within the next forty-eight hours."
"Double the guard," Elliot ordered, stood up from his desk and walking over to the window. "And tell the men that if anyone even looks at that clinic the wrong way, they don't wait for orders. They eliminate the threat immediately."
"And the girl?" Marco asked.
Elliot looked out toward the courtyard below. Lizzie was sitting on the stone steps of the fountain, holding a small wooden doll that one of the housemaids had found for her. She was throwing small pebbles into the water, her face peaceful, completely unaware of the storm that was gathering around her name.
"She stays here, with me," Elliot said. "Sal Vance wants a war? Let him try. But he’ll find out very quickly that when you threaten a child under my roof, you aren't just fighting a rival family. You're fighting the man who owns the ground you’re standing on."
The door to the study opened softly, and Lizzie’s small face appeared in the crack. She was holding her wooden doll, her eyes looking at Elliot with that same pure, uncritical trust that had shattered his defenses at Bellini’s.
"Elliot?" she called out, using his first name with a familiarity that would have gotten a hardened gangster killed. "You said you would take me to see my mama today. Is she awake yet?"
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The coldness in Elliot's face vanished instantly, replaced by a soft, genuine smile that Marco had never seen before in all his years of service.
"Put your shoes on, Lizzie," Elliot said, walking over to the door and kneeling down to her level. "The car is already waiting."
