Chapter 3 - The King Unravels
Back in Manhattan, Vincent Caruso hadn't slept in seventy-two hours.
The penthouse looked like a war room. Floor-to-ceiling maps of the East Coast covered the Italian marble walls, marked with red pushpins and transit routes. Ten laptops glowed on the dining table, operated by his top cyber specialists. Empty espresso cups and crushed cigarette packs littered the immaculate counters.
""Find her,"" Vincent growled, his voice a ragged rasp. His silk shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, his stubble thick and dark, his eyes bloodshot with mania. ""She didn't fly. She didn't take an Amtrak. She didn't use an ATM. How does an unarmed, sick woman vanish into thin air from Midtown Manhattan?""
""Boss, she went completely analog,"" his lieutenant reported cautiously, keeping his distance. ""She left every piece of Caruso jewelry behind. She even left the keys to her Mini Cooper and her coat with the tracking fob. She planned this, Vincent. She didn't panic. She executed an extraction.""
The words felt like a bullet through Vincent’s chest. She planned this.
She hadn't run in a fit of hysterical tears. She had systematically, calmly dismantled her life with him and walked out into the freezing night because being homeless and sick on the street was preferable to spending another second under his roof.
The double doors of the penthouse burst open. Madison Vale marched in, wearing a pristine beige trench coat, looking furious.
""Vincent, this is ridiculous!"" Madison snapped, waving her manicured hand at the armed guards stationed in the foyer. ""You canceled the annual charity gala! You shut down the harbor logistics contracts for three days! The board is asking questions, the Five Families think you're having a mental breakdown, and your mother is beside herself! All this over a dramatic little mouse who walked out because she wanted attention?""
Vincent moved so fast the air cracked.
Before Madison could draw another breath, Vincent crossed the room and closed his massive hand around her slender throat, slamming her backward against the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking the Manhattan skyline.
The guards froze, holding their breath.
""Vincent!"" Madison gasped, her eyes bulging in terror as her heels kicked off the floor.
""You think this is a game?"" Vincent whispered, his voice vibrating with pure, murderous venom. ""I checked the call logs from my private line over the last six months, Madison. You deleted forty-two voicemails from Emma. You told the security team to tell her I was in offshore meetings when I was sitting in my office. You told me she was faking her fainting spells.""
Madison clawed at his steel wrist, her face turning purple. ""She... she wasn't good... for you..."" she choked out.
""Emma was the only thing standing between me and the devil,"" Vincent snarled, leaning in until his breath ghosted across her cheek. ""And you convinced me to cast her aside. If Emma is dead because she didn't get medical treatment that night, Madison, I will dismantle your family's fortune dollar by dollar, and you will spend the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary.""
He let go abruptly. Madison collapsed to the hardwood, coughing violently, weeping and clutching her throat.
""Get her out of my sight,"" Vincent ordered without looking back. ""Strip her family of their port access passes. Cut all their credit lines. Leave them with nothing.""
Two guards dragged the sobbing socialite out of the penthouse, the heavy double doors slamming shut behind her.
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Vincent walked slowly into Emma's abandoned dressing room. He sank down onto the carpet, surrounded by the faint, lingering scent of her lavender perfume. He buried his face in the silk scarf she had left behind on her vanity stool, and for the first time since his father was assassinated fifteen years ago, the feared mafia don wept until his shoulders shook with silent, agonizing despair.
***
