Chapter 6 - Echoes in the Dark
The damp chill of the underground brick vault clung to Dominic’s skin, but his blood was boiling hot.
"Marcus? Did you take care of Romano, or do I have to finish the job myself?"
The voice belonged to Vincent Rossi—Marcus’s second-in-command and the man Dominic had trusted to manage the port logistics on the south shore. The realization hit Dominic like a physical blow. It wasn't just a security chief acting out of greed; it was an entire cancer eating away at the core of his organization from the inside out.
Dominic gripped the heavy iron poker tighter, flattening his body even deeper against the curved brickwork of the subterranean junction. A faint beam of light from a tactical flashlight cut erratic arcs against the damp floor a dozen paces ahead, bouncing off the puddles.
"Marcus?" Vincent called out again, his boots shuffling closer on the flagstones. "Talk to me, damn it. The federal backup is supposed to hit the main gates in ten minutes. If we don't clear out now—"
Vincent stepped around the corner of the stone archway, his flashlight sweeping upward.
He never saw the iron poker coming.
Dominic swung with every ounce of suppressed rage and protective fury he possessed. The heavy iron struck Vincent square across the shoulder and collarbone with a sickening crunch of bone. Vincent gasped, dropping his rifle as he crashed hard against the brick wall and slid down into the mud.
Before the man could scream, Dominic was on top of him, pinning him to the damp earth with one knee and pressing the jagged edge of a broken brick against Vincent's throat.
"You're a long way from the docks, Vincent," Dominic snarled, his voice a lethal whisper that scraped against the stone walls.
Vincent choked, his eyes wide with stark terror as he stared up at the dark, unyielding face of the man the entire New York underworld feared. "Dom... wait... I was forced—Marcus said if I didn't help with Isabelle's detail—"
"Liar," Dominic pressed harder, drawing a thin line of crimson across Vincent's windpipe. "Tell me who else is on your payroll, or the next stop isn't a precinct. It’s the bottom of the Sound."
Vincent gagged, his hands clawing weakly at Dominic’s wrists. "It's... it's the district attorney... Frank Callahan... he signed off on the immunity warrants... he wanted your empire dismantled from the inside..."
Dominic froze. Callahan. The man who had dined at his table, who had promised justice for Isabelle’s murder on television screens across the tri-state area.
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Before Dominic could squeeze the truth out of him, a sharp, rhythmic sound echoed down the tunnel from the direction of the boat house exit—the unmistakable chop of heavy rotor blades hovering just offshore.
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