Chapter 5 - The Parlay
The great hall of the estate was freezing. Vincent had deliberately turned off the radiant heat in the entryway, creating an atmosphere that felt as cold and unwelcoming as a morgue.
Emma was instructed to remain upstairs on the mezzanine behind the darkened balustrade, but she refused to stay in her room. Crouched behind the heavy timber pillars, she had an unobstructed view of the front foyer through the iron railings.
The heavy front door opened, admitting a swirl of dry snow and three men.
Salvatore Valenti entered with the slow, heavy swagger of an aging lion who still believed he ruled the savannah. Despite his advanced years, his frame was massive, his eyes small, wet, and predatory beneath heavy brows. Behind him walked two younger men with sharp, clean-shaven faces and bulges beneath their tailored wool coats that left no doubt as to their armament.
Marcus Romano stood at the base of the staircase, six feet behind Vincent, his hands clasped loosely in front of his waist in an easy rest position that concealed his draw speed.
""Vincent,"" Valenti said, his voice carrying the rasp of a lifetime of unfiltered cigars. He did not extend a hand. ""You've made yourself very hard to find since Tuesday night. People in the city are saying you've retired to the country to grow apples.""
""I don't grow apples, Salvatore,"" Vincent replied, standing in the center of the slate floor, entirely alone, completely relaxed. ""I cut out rot. That’s what you do when an orchard gets diseased.""
Valenti’s jaw hardened, his thick fingers tightening around the silver handle of his walking cane.
""My nephew made a mistake at the restaurant,"" Valenti said flatly. ""He acted without authorization from the table. Youth is hot-blooded, Vincent. You remember what it was like when you were thirty.""
""Your nephew didn't make a mistake, Salvatore,"" Vincent countered smoothly. ""He followed orders that were cut in your private backroom on Mulberry Street. And he failed. Not only did he fail, but he put a round into an innocent girl whose family has lived in this city since your grandfather was selling watered whiskey off a handcart.""
Valenti let out a low, rumbling laugh that sounded like stones grinding inside a barrel.
""The waitress?"" Valenti sneered, waving a dismissive hand. ""You're starting a five-borough war over a college girl who carries trays? Don't insult my intelligence, Vincent. The harbor police didn't raid my Red Hook docks because of a waitress. You’ve been feeding manifests to the Southern District for six months. You're trying to clear the waterfront so your logistics firm can monopolize the new terminal contracts.""
""Every piece of paper the federal prosecutors received was obtained legally through commercial discovery,"" Vincent said without blinking. ""You got sloppy, Salvatore. You used your concrete subsidiaries to launder container fees, and you left a paper trail wide enough to drive a cement truck through. The city didn't need my help to find it. They just needed someone to point out where the numbers didn't balance.""
Valenti stepped forward, his bodyguards tensing behind him. Marcus Romano’s right shoulder dropped half an inch.
""You think you're untouchable up here in these woods?"" Valenti hissed, leaning forward onto his cane, his eyes burning with ancient hatred. ""The feds might be looking at my docks, but you have to live in this world, Vincent. You have to come down from this mountain eventually. And when you do, there won't be a little girl to jump between you and the lead.""
""I won't need one, Salvatore,"" Vincent said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy whisper that Emma knew preceded destruction. ""Because by noon tomorrow, the state attorney general is unsealing the indictments on your three construction firms. Your bonding insurance has been revoked as of four o'clock today. You are bankrupt, Salvatore. You just don't have the paperwork yet.""
Valenti’s face turned an apoplectic shade of purple. His breath rattled in his chest as he stared at Vincent, realizing with sudden, horrifying clarity that this meeting had never been an opportunity to negotiate; it was a formal declaration of his complete and total annihilation.
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""You son of a bitch,"" Valenti whispered.
""Get off my property,"" Vincent said, turning his back on the mob boss and walking toward the staircase. ""If your cars are still inside my gates in three minutes, Marcus will bury them under the snow.""
