Chapter 7 - The Monitor in the Dark
Outside the cold-storage locker, inside a dimly lit observation trailer parked near the edge of the container yard, Victor Salvator leaned back in a swivel chair, swirling a glass of amber scotch.
On the desk before him, a high-definition monitor displayed the interior of Locker B in crystal-clear clarity. He could see Carmine Orsini standing beneath the camera, could see the shivering old man, and could see the desperate, defeated look in the young woman’s eyes.
“Magnificent, isn't it?” Salvator murmured, taking a slow sip. He glanced at Arthur Vance, who sat nervously on the edge of a cot with a bandage taped over his temple. “The Orsini empire brought low by a malfunctioning freezer. No gunshots. No messy police reports. Just a tragic industrial accident at the docks.”
Vance swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his brow despite the chill in the trailer. “And the girl? And Orsini’s head of security?”
“Collateral,” Salvator replied smoothly, his eyes fixed on the screen. “By morning, their bodies will be flash-frozen beyond immediate identification. The police will write it off as a botched cargo inspection. And Crescent Line Logistics will absorb every asset the Orsinis own.”
On the monitor, Carmine stepped directly toward the camera lens. He didn't look down. He looked straight up, his gaze piercing through the glass of the lens as if he were staring directly into Salvator’s eyes.
“He knows we’re watching,” Vance whispered, a sudden shiver of dread running down his spine.
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“Let him look,” Salvator sneered, leaning closer to the desk intercom. He pressed the transmission button, piping his voice directly into the freezing vault.
“Enjoying the view, Orsini?” Salvator’s amplified voice crackled out of the overhead speaker in Locker B, echoing harshly off the steel walls. “You should have stayed in the Garden District. Baking pies wasn't your business.”
