Chapter 5 - THE QUEENS EXTRACTION
While domestic politics churned inside the mansion, Augusto was busy executing my personal directives out in the real world.
It was late Friday night when Augusto buzzed my private phone.
"Boss," Augusto’s voice came through the secure speakerline. "We have the package from Queens."
"Bring him to the basement holding facility," I instructed, stubbing out my cigar in an crystal ashtray. "I’ll be down in five minutes."
The subterranean levels of the Rossi estate were designed for things the local police preferred not to know about. Soundproofed concrete walls, reinforced steel doors, and clinical white lighting.
When I stepped into the holding room, Marcus Vance—the worthless piece of trash who had pushed Hannah down a flight of stairs and killed her unborn child—was strapped securely to an industrial steel chair.
He looked pathetic. His cheap leather jacket was scuffed, his hair unwashed, and his eyes darted frantically around the sterile room as two of my armed guards stood silently by the door.
"Who are you people?!" Marcus screamed, straining against the heavy leather straps binding his chest and arms. "What is this?! You can't just snatch people off the street! I’m calling the cops!"
I stepped into the light, pulling off my leather gloves and tossing them onto the metal table.
Marcus blinked, recognizing my face from television and financial magazines. The color drained entirely from his skin. "L-Lorenzo Rossi? Wait... I didn't do business with you! I don't know you!"
"No, you don't know me," I said, walking slowly around his chair like a predator circling a wounded rabbit. "But you know Hannah Hayes."
Marcus flinched, a flicker of guilt crossing his greasy features. "Hannah? What does that bitch have to do with this? She fell! She tripped on her own feet!"
Crack.
My fist connected directly with his jaw, snapping his head violently to the side. A spray of blood hit the concrete floor.
Marcus groaned, spitting out a mouthful of copper-tasting blood, his eyes wide with terror. "You broke my jaw!"
"That was just for starters," I said coldly, grabbing a bottle of ice-water from the table and pouring it slowly over his head. "You pushed a thirty-eight-weeks-pregnant woman down a flight of stairs. You killed her daughter. And then you had the audacity to walk away scot-free."
"She was hysterical!" Marcus sobbed, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "She was screaming at me! I just pushed her away! I didn't mean for her to lose the baby!"
"Intent doesn't matter when the result is a dead child," I whispered, leaning in close so he could smell the absolute malice radiating from my skin. "You took a child from a mother. Do you have any idea what that feels like?"
Marcus sobbed uncontrollably, shaking his head. "Please... please don't kill me. Just name your price. How much do you want?"
"My price isn't money, Marcus," I straightened up, pulling a heavy hunting knife from my belt and testing the razor-sharp edge with my thumb. "My price is justice. The kind of justice the courts are too weak to deliver."
"What are you going to do to me?!" he shrieked.
"Augusto," I called out without looking back.
"Yes, boss?"
"Take him down to the container yard by the harbor. Lock him inside with a single gallon of water and no food for seven days. Let him think about what it’s like to starve slowly in the dark—just like Hannah starved for justice."
May you like
"Right away, boss," Augusto said, motioning to the guards.
As they dragged Marcus away, screaming and kicking toward the freight elevator, I stood alone in the cold room, cleaning the blade of my knife with a cloth. One debt was being collected. But back upstairs, another life was just beginning to bloom.
