Chapter 3 - The Social Club on 4th Street
The basement social club beneath the dry cleaners on 4th Street smelled of imported tobacco, damp concrete, and unadulterated terror.
Tommy stood in the center of the room, his face pale and slick with nervous sweat, surrounded by three of Vincent’s most formidable enforcers. On the poker table before him sat a stack of bounced checks and an empty glass of whiskey that had been knocked over in the scuffle.
"I'm telling you, I can get the cash by Friday!" Tommy stammered, backing away until his spine hit a concrete pillar. "My uncle has a restaurant in Queens—he's good for it!"
"Your uncle declared bankruptcy in 2021, Mr. Miller," a smooth, cultured voice echoed from the top of the metal staircase.
The room went instantly silent. The enforcers stepped aside, parting like the Red Sea, as Vincent Rossy descended the steps with slow, measured elegance. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored wool suit, his dark eyes fixed entirely on Tommy.
"Mr. Rossy—listen, Boss, I didn't mean to cause any trouble," Tommy blurted out, his hands shaking violently. "It's just a misunderstanding over a card game. I'll pay double the vig. Just give me until the weekend."
Vincent walked past him without a word, taking a seat at the head of the leather poker table. He picked up one of Tommy’s bounced checks, examined the signature with mock interest, and set it down.
"You have a very aggressive way of managing your finances, Tommy," Vincent said quietly. "You gamble money you don't have, you scream at dealers, and, according to my sources, you take your frustrations out on people who work significantly harder than you ever have."
Tommy swallowed hard, casting a desperate glance toward the door. "What does my personal life have to do with this table?"
"Everything," Vincent replied, his voice dropping into a register that made the air in the room feel heavy and suffocating. "In my city, a man who cannot manage his own household is a liability. A man who strikes a woman over thirty dollars lacks basic impulse control. And a man who lacks impulse control is dangerous to have breathing our air."
Vincent raised his hand slightly.
The largest of the enforcers stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a sound like dry branches snapping in winter.
"Wait! Wait!" Tommy shrieked, dropping to his knees on the concrete floor. "Take the car! Take my watch! Just don't—please!"
At that exact moment, the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs creaked open.
Footsteps echoed down the concrete steps.
Vincent raised a finger, halting his enforcer mid-motion. All eyes turned toward the stairwell as a figure stepped into the harsh overhead light.
Amelia stood at the bottom of the stairs, still wearing her diner apron over her thin coat, her hair slightly disheveled from the wind outside. She looked at Tommy cowering on the floor, then at the menacing wall of muscle surrounding him, and finally at Vincent Rossy sitting calmly at the head of the table.
Vincent raised an eyebrow, genuine surprise flickering across his usually impenetrable expression.
"Amelia," Vincent said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Did I not suggest you go home and put ice on your face?"
"I couldn't," Amelia said, her voice steady as she walked across the room, stopping ten feet away from Tommy. She looked down at the man who had terrorized her for three years, feeling a strange, hollow lightness in her chest. The fear was gone. Replaced by clarity.
"You followed me?" Tommy whimpered, glaring up at her with a mix of humiliation and rage. "You brought these animals on me? You ungrateful—"
Before Tommy could finish his sentence, Amelia stepped forward and kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling backward onto the concrete floor.
The room went dead silent. The enforcers stared in absolute disbelief. Even Vincent blinked.
Amelia lowered her foot, looking down at Tommy without a shred of pity. "That's for the last three years, Tommy. And the rest? I'm leaving that to Mr. Rossy."
May you like
She turned her gaze back to Vincent, who was slowly, deliberately beginning to smile.
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