Chapter 5 - The Toll of the Ledger
Before Viktor could reach for the revolver tucked beneath the blotter, Enzo moved with blinding, terrifying speed.
He vaulted across the mahogany desk, grabbing Viktor by the silk collar of his shirt and slamming him backward through the office window. The heavy double-paned glass shattered outward in a cascade of glittering shrapnel, raining down onto the loading bay floor two stories below.
Viktor screamed, his thick hands clawing frantically at Enzo’s wrists as he was half-dangling over the drop, the cold night wind whipping through the shattered frame.
"Boss! Boss, wait!" one of the enforcers shouted, raising his submachine gun again.
Ray appeared in the doorway behind them like an apparition, his Sig Sauer already centered between the enforcer's eyes. "Drop it, or I paint this room with your brains," Ray said smoothly.
The enforcer froze, his weapon slowly lowering toward the floor as he looked at the cold, dead eyes of the veteran hitman.
Enzo looked down at Viktor, whose face was purple, his boots kicking uselessly against the exterior brick wall of the warehouse.
"You touched what was mine," Enzo said, his voice entirely devoid of human emotion. "You terrified a little girl who had already lost enough. And you ruined my Thursday night."
"I'll give you the port," Viktor choked out, tears of genuine terror streaming down his face. "I'll give you the whole North Docks operation! Fifty percent vig on every container! Just—just let me up!"
"I don't want your docks, Viktor," Enzo whispered. "I have my own docks."
With a sudden, powerful heave, Enzo hoisted the heavy Russian up and threw him backward onto the carpeted floor of the office. Viktor landed with a heavy, wheezing thud, gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat.
Enzo stepped over the shattered glass, walking slowly toward him, his leather shoes clicking against the floor. He pulled a heavy leather-bound ledger from his inner pocket—the personal record he kept of every debt, every favor, and every blood-price in the city.
He flipped it open to a blank page, pulled out a gold fountain pen, and uncapped it with his teeth.
"Ray," Enzo said without looking back.
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Call the council. Tell them the Krovnikov family has voluntarily retired from the shipping business effective immediately. Their assets are forfeit. Their territory is partitioned."
"Consider it done," Ray replied, nodding to the two enforcers. "You two. Pick up your boss. Get him out of my sight before Mr. Marchetti changes his mind about gravity."
The enforcers didn't need to be told twice. They hauled the trembling, broken Bratva boss to his feet and dragged him out of the room, leaving Enzo standing alone in the wrecked office, the cold night wind blowing through the shattered window frame.
Enzo looked down at the blank page in his ledger. For thirty-seven years, every line he wrote had been about blood, money, and leverage. Every transaction had been calculated in cold steel.
May you like
Slowly, deliberately, he capped the pen and slid the book away.
For the first time in his life, he didn't want a ledger. He wanted a beginning.
