Chapter 5 - The Trap at Brighton BeachViktor Vance didn't wait long to make his move.
Two days later, an encrypted burner phone on my desk rang during a midnight thunderstorm. I picked it up myself.
"Corso," a deep, heavily accented voice rumbled through the static. "I trust you got my message?"
"Vance," I replied, my voice as cold as frozen steel. "If you're calling to arrange your own funeral, you dialed the right number."
Vance laughed—a harsh, barking sound like a dog choking on bone. "Big words for a man who can't stand up to tie his own shoes. Listen to me very carefully, Dominic. Your little maid, Fay... she’s currently enjoying a cup of tea in my private office at the Blue Anchor warehouse down in Brighton Beach. If you want to see her alive again, you bring the Brooklyn shipping deeds to my warehouse by 2:00 AM. Come alone. No guards. No police."
The line went dead.
I sat in the dark study for three seconds. Then I smashed the burner phone against the edge of my desk, shattering it into plastic shrapnel.
"Carmine!" I roared.
The study door flew open instantly. Carmine rushed in. "Boss! I heard the phone—"
"Vance has Fay," I interrupted, already wheeling toward the private elevator. "Get the tactical gear. Assemble every loyal enforcer we have. We're tearing Brighton Beach apart brick by brick."
"Boss, wait!" Carmine grabbed the handles of my wheelchair, stopping me. "Vance said come alone! If we roll in with an army, he’ll kill the girl before we even breach the doors!"
May you like
"Then what do you suggest, Carmine?!" I shouted, turning around, my face twisted with fury. "Just hand over the empire? Let him slaughter her to prove a point?"
"No," Carmine said, his voice deadly serious. "We don't go in with an army. We go in with a ghost."
