Chapter 4 - The Price of Treason
Victor Harlan spat blood onto the iron catwalk, his teeth red, his eyes burning with deep, pathetic hatred.
"Go to hell, Dominic," Harlan choked out, wincing under the immense weight of Bruno’s paws on his chest. "I don't have it here. It's at my private estate in Long Island. By the time your men drive out there and break into my vault... that little girl will be cold meat."
I didn't lose my temper. I didn't raise my voice. I simply reached down, grabbed Marco Ricci by his hair, and dragged him over to the railing, forcing his head over the edge so he could look down at the twenty-foot drop to the concrete floor.
"Marco," I said softly.
"Boss! Please! Please!" Marco wept, his hands clawing at my sleeves. "I was forced into it! Harlan had debts on me! He threatened my family!"
"You stood in the funeral home," I whispered in his ear, my voice trembling with a terrifying, contained fury. "You watched her mother weep. You watched her father break. You knew she was suffocating in that box, and you smiled and offered me condolences."
"I was scared!" Marco sobbed. "I didn't want the kid to die!"
"Where is the antidote, Marco?" I asked. "Harlan is lying to buy time. He wouldn't keep something that valuable twenty miles away. Where is it?"
Marco looked at Harlan, then looked down at the concrete floor below. He saw the cold, dead reality in my eyes. He knew that if he lied, I would drop him head-first onto the stone.
"In his coat!" Marco screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Harlan. "In the inner breast pocket of his coat! He carries two vials of the neutralizer in a silver case in case his own lab techs make a mistake during handling!"
Harlan’s eyes widened in violent panic. "You filthy traitorous rat!" he roared, trying to kick at Marco.
Bruno growled, his jaws snapping shut right beside Harlan’s ear, instantly freezing the man in place.
I reached down into Harlan’s camel-hair coat, sliding my hand into the silk inner lining. My fingers brushed against a heavy, rectangular metallic box. I pulled it out.
It was a brushed steel case stamped with a biohazard symbol. I flipped the latch open.
Inside rested two small glass ampoules containing a clear, amber liquid, alongside a sterile auto-injector needle.
I held the case up to the dim light of the slaughterhouse.
"Tony," I called out.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Take this to Dr. Rossi immediately. Drive like the devil himself is chasing you."
Tony snatched the case from my hand, holding it like it was made of spun glass. "I'll be there in five minutes, Boss." He sprinted down the iron stairs, his footsteps echoing wildly as he vanished out the front entrance.
I stood alone on the catwalk with Harlan, Marco, and Bruno.
Below us, my surviving men stood in a circle, their weapons pointed upward, waiting for my judgment.
I looked at Marco Ricci. A man who had sat at my Sunday dinner table. A man who had held my godchildren. A man who had traded his honor for Harlan’s blood money.
"You asked me earlier why I trusted a dog over you," I said to Marco.
Marco swallowed hard, tears and sweat dripping from his chin. "Dominic... please. Seventeen years..."
"Bruno doesn't know what money is, Marco," I said softly. "He doesn't care about territory. He doesn't care about power. He only knows loyalty. He knew Elena was innocent, and he knew you were a monster."
I released my grip on Marco’s hair.
He slumped onto the iron catwalk, gasping, thinking for a split second that I was showing him mercy.
"Marcus," I called down to my capo standing on the main floor.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Take Marco and Harlan down to the basement of the old warehouse on Fifth. Lock them in the storage room beneath the floorboards."
Marco’s face went completely white. "No... no, Dominic, not the floorboards..."
"The same depth as a grave," I said, turning my back on them. "No light. No sound. Let them sit in the dark and wait for news about Elena. If she dies... they stay down there forever."
"Dominic! Dominic!" Marco shrieked as my men grabbed him by his arms, dragging him kicking and screaming down the stairs alongside a bleeding, cursing Harlan.
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I didn't look back. I knelt on the iron catwalk, pulling Bruno’s large, scarred head into my hands. The dog let out a low, tired exhale, leaning his heavy body against my chest.
"Good boy, Bruno," I whispered, kissing the top of his rough, scarred head. "Good boy. Now let's go see if our little girl is going to live."
