Chapter 54 - The 8:30 Shift
The road leading into the Vance Marine logistics hub was lined with towering stacks of rusted shipping containers, arranged like the walls of a labyrinth.
The morning shift had arrived, but there was no normal work happening on the tarmac. Cranes stood motionless against the slate sky, their long yellow booms suspended over half-empty barges. Men in heavy Carhartt jackets and high-visibility vests stood in clusters around the perimeter heaters, smoking cigarettes, their eyes darting nervously toward the administrative building at the center of the yard.
The word had spread: Hector Rossi was gone. The empire was an open wound.
I kept both hands steady on the steering wheel of the black Lincoln Town Car. Gabriel sat in the passenger seat, his eyes tracking every shadow between the containers, a heavy tactical radio resting on his knee. Sofia sat in the back, silent once more, her face wrapped in a heavy silk scarf that concealed her mouth and throat.
"The gate guards are Giancarlo’s," Gabriel said quietly, observing the two men standing by the reinforced barrier. "Look at the shoulders. Former railway security. Hector never hired private corporate muscle; he liked local bookmakers who owed him money. Giancarlo hires professionals."
"Keep driving," Sofia’s voice came from the backseat, low and commanding. "Do not slow down until the barrier."
As we approached the yellow gate, one of the guards stepped out, his hand raised, an automatic carbine slung beneath his heavy coat. He tapped on my window with leather-gloved knuckles.
I rolled the glass down an inch. The bitter smell of lake spray and wet asphalt rushed inside.
"Yard is closed for private inventory," the guard said, chewing gum, his gaze immediately scanning past me toward Gabriel. "Turn the vehicle around."
Gabriel leaned across the console, rolling his window down. "Look at the car, Miller."
The guard paused, recognizing Gabriel. His expression didn't show fear—it showed the calculated insolence of a man who knew his boss had the upper hand.
"Mr. Gabriel," Miller said, taking a slow step back, his hand resting near his sling. "Mr. Vance left specific instructions. No family members in the administrative block until after the trust meeting at ten."
"Mr. Vance?" Gabriel echoed, his voice dropping into a deadly register. "My father's name was Rossi."
"I take orders from the managing director," Miller replied coldly. "And right now, the name on the payroll check is G. R. Vance."
Before Miller could shift his stance, the rear door of the Lincoln opened.
Sofia stepped out onto the slushy gravel. The wind caught her black wool coat, whipping it around her slender frame. She held her walking stick in her right hand, but her back was straight, her chin raised.
Miller frowned, visibly uncomfortable. The entire terminal knew the boss’s wife was an invalid, an elderly relic from the old Italian neighborhood who lived behind drawn curtains.
"Signora Rossi," Miller said, instinctively dropping his gum into his palm out of deference to old-world habits. "You shouldn't be out here in this cold. Let me call a driver to take you back to Lake Shore—"
Sofia didn't use sign language.
She took two deliberate steps toward Miller, lifted the brass-headed walking stick, and struck the metal barrier control box with a resounding *crack*.
"Miller," she said, her voice cutting through the wind like a siren. "Your father was a boilermaker on the Calumet drydock. He lost two fingers under my father's crane in 1972, and my father paid his mortgage until the day he died."
Miller’s face turned the color of damp chalk. He stumbled back a step, looking at her as if a marble statue had just spoken.
"Signora... you... you talk?"
"I speak when a dog forgets who owns the kennel," Sofia said, her dark eyes pinning him to the spot. "Raise the gate, Miller. Or go home and tell your mother why your pension checks stopped coming."
Miller’s throat moved convulsively. He didn't look at Gabriel. He didn't look at his partner in the guardhouse. With trembling hands, he reached inside the booth and slammed his palm against the green button.
The hydraulic arm groaned and lifted toward the gray sky.
May you like
Gabriel looked back at his mother through the rearview mirror as she returned to the car. "Remind me never to cross your father's memory."
Sofia smoothed her coat, her expression returning to stone. "Drive, Maya. Giancarlo is expecting an empty room. Let us not disappoint him."
