Chapter 4 - The Rat in the Library
By midnight, the heavy mahogany doors of the mansion’s private library were locked from the inside.
Anthony Romano sat on a leather sofa, sweating profusely despite the cool autumn night air blowing against the glass terrace windows.
He was pouring his third glass of vintage brandy with hands that shook so violently the decanter clinked against the crystal tumbler.
The library doors clicked open.
Vincent walked into the room alone, wearing a clean charcoal suit, his face an emotionless, terrifying mask. He closed the double doors behind him, locking the heavy brass deadbolt with a soft, final snap.
Anthony jumped up from the sofa, trying to muster a wide, cousinly smile.
"Vincent! Thank God you're safe! I heard rumors about an incident in the garage—I came over as soon as I could get away from the dock authority."
Vincent didn't answer. He walked over to the antique desk, pulled out a thick manila folder, and dropped it onto the glass coffee table between them.
The folder fell open.
Inside were high-resolution photographs of Anthony meeting with Salvatore Viscari’s top lieutenant in an underground parking garage in Queens three days earlier.
Beneath the photos lay bank records detailing a four-million-dollar wire transfer routed through a shell corporation in Panama.
Anthony’s face drained of every ounce of color. The glass of brandy slipped from his fingers, shattering across the Persian rug and soaking the fringe in dark amber liquor.
"Vincent... listen to me," Anthony stammered, backing toward the decorative fireplace. "Salvatore had leverage on me. He found out about my gambling debts in Atlantic City! He threatened to kill my family!"
"You sold my schedule," Vincent said, his voice quiet, calm, and terrifyingly level. "You gave Peter Sloan the surveillance override codes. You authorized a hit that included a seven-year-old child and her mother."
"I didn't know about the kid!" Anthony shrieked, tears of sheer panic welling in his eyes. "Sloan told me it was just an accident on the freeway! He swore it would look like brake failure!"
"You were my blood, Anthony," Vincent said, taking three slow, measured steps toward him. "Our fathers built this shipping empire side by side in the old harbor."
"I can fix it, Vincent!" Anthony dropped to his knees on the ruined carpet, clutching his hands together in desperate prayer. "I know Salvatore’s staging warehouse! I know where his offshore container shipments are arriving at dawn! I’ll give you everything!"
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Vincent looked down at his cousin, feeling not anger, but a hollow, profound disgust for a coward who had sold his family for twenty pieces of silver.
"You will give Marcus everything," Vincent said, turning his back on the kneeling man. "And then, Anthony, you will take a one-way flight to our rural compound in Sicily. If you ever set foot on American soil again, you won't live to see the sunset."
