Chapter 5 - The Trap is Set
By midnight, Maya was fast asleep, her fingers still curled around Caleb's tarnished silver dog tag. Clara stood by the woodstove, clutching a mug of black coffee, watching me load hollow-point cartridges into three separate magazines.
"What is your plan?" Clara asked quietly. "Marcus commands half the family soldiers now. You gave him control of the Bronx and Queens after Caleb died. If you try to confront him openly, it will start a street war that will drag this entire city into the gutter."
"A street war is messy," I replied, sliding a fresh magazine into my custom Kimber .45 with a sharp, mechanical click. "Messy wars create crossfire. Crossfire endangers innocent people. Caleb died trying to prevent that, and I will not dishonor my son's memory by turning New York into a slaughterhouse for his daughter to witness."
I looked at Sal. "Call a mandatory family council for tomorrow night at nine. Tell every capo, every underboss, and every captain that I am stepping down. Tell them my health is failing, that the grief has finally hollowed me out, and that I am naming Marcus as the new Don of the Miller family."
Sal’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Vincent, if you call that meeting, you’re putting yourself in a room surrounded by his men. He’ll execute you the second you sign the transfer of power."
"He will try," I said softly. "Arrogance makes a predator sloppy. For three years, Marcus has watched me wither at that grave. He thinks I am a broken old man waiting to die. He will bring his closest conspirators to celebrate his coronation. And that is where we will cut the head off the snake."
I turned to Clara and pulled a black leather notebook from my inner coat pocket. Inside were account numbers, offshore trust funds, and property deeds in Switzerland and New Zealand—clean assets untouched by criminal enterprises, worth well over thirty million dollars.
"If anything happens to me tomorrow night," I said, placing the book into Clara's hands, "this belongs to Maya. Take her to Europe. Buy a villa in the mountains. Give her piano lessons, an Ivy League education, and a life where nobody knows the name Vincent Miller."
May you like
Clara looked at the book, then looked up into my eyes. She didn't say thank you. She recognized the weight of a dying man's final will. "She loves you already, Vincent. Don't make her lose another father."
I looked toward the bedroom door where my granddaughter lay sleeping, dreaming innocent dreams protected by a killer's fortress. "I have no intention of dying, Clara. Not before I introduce Marcus to justice."
