Chapter 5 - The Shadow at Hudson Yards
The Hudson Yards freight terminal was an cavernous sprawl of rust-colored shipping containers, steel rails, and echoing concrete platforms. Rain blew sideways through the gaps in the corrugated metal roof, drumming a hollow funeral march.
Albert Costa stood on the raised gantry overlooking the central siding, surrounded by twelve of his most trusted personal guards.
He held a glass of single-malt scotch, checking his gold Rolex every few seconds. At sixty-four, Albert carried himself with the stately grace of a retired statesman, his silver hair neatly combed back, his dark coat tailored to perfection.
"Has Pauly checked in yet?" Albert asked, not looking at the lieutenant standing beside him.
"Radio silence since Mercer Street, boss," the lieutenant replied nervously. "We tried the private frequency. No answer."
Albert took a slow, measured sip of his drink. "A shame. Evelyn was a lovely girl. If she hadn't been so relentlessly nosy, she might have lived a very long, comfortable life in Connecticut."
"And the boy?" the man asked. "Darius is still unaccounted for."
"Darius is broken," Albert dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I know how his mind works. He’s sitting in his penthouse drowning in whiskey, weeping over wedding albums. By morning, the grief will make his suicide completely believable."
A loud pneumatic hiss cut through the damp air as the heavy bay doors at the south end of the terminal groaned upward.
Three black SUVs rolled through the opening, their headlights cutting through the swirling exhaust and rain.
Albert smiled, setting his glass down on the steel handrail. "Right on time. Lorenzo always was a stickler for punctuality."
The vehicles stopped in a neat arrowhead formation fifty feet from the gantry stairs. The doors swung open simultaneously, but the men who stepped out did not wear Romano colors.
Stepping into the glare of the halogen lamps was Darius Costa.
He wore no coat. His white shirt was soaked with rain and grease, unbuttoned at the neck, his eyes locked onto Albert with the terrifying stillness of an executioner who had already read the verdict.
Beside him walked Lorenzo Romano, flanking him like an equal partner.
And directly behind them, flanked by two armed Romano soldiers, walked Evelyn Costa, her face pale, beautiful, and completely devoid of fear.
Albert’s smile froze. The glass of scotch on the rail slipped from his fingers, shattering onto the concrete thirty feet below.
"Darius?" Albert breathed, taking an involuntary step back from the edge of the gantry.
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"You shouldn't have dropped the scotch, Uncle," Darius’s voice boomed across the empty warehouse, amplified by the cold steel girders. "It’s the last good drink you'll ever have."
Albert recovered his composure with terrifying speed, raising his hand to signal his men. "Kill them! All of them! Now!"
