Chapter 14 - The Banker Without a Gun
Vittorio De Luca arrived in Manhattan aboard a private Gulfstream painted pearl white.
He carried no visible weapon.
He needed none.
By the time his plane touched down, three Caruso shipping accounts had been frozen, a labor insurer had canceled coverage, and two newspapers were preparing stories accusing Elena of laundering Moretti money.
Adrian wanted to solve the problem the old way.
Elena refused.
“If you threaten a banker during a federal investigation, we lose before breakfast.”
“He’s not a banker.”
“He wears banker suits, owns banker buildings, and donates to museums. That’s enough.”
They were standing inside the Caruso Maritime headquarters overlooking the Hudson.
Dominic entered.
“Vittorio requested a meeting.”
“Where?”
“His hotel.”
Adrian laughed without humor.
“No.”
Elena took the card.
“Yes.”
Adrian turned.
“Elena.”
“I’m not going alone.”
“That isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“He designed this entire situation to make you come to him.”
“Good.”
She grabbed her coat.
“Let’s disappoint him by leaving alive.”
The De Luca suite occupied the top floor of a hotel overlooking Central Park.
Vittorio stood near the windows.
He was seventy-three, elegant, silver-haired, and surprisingly thin.
No guards were visible.
“Welcome, Elena.”
His voice was gentle.
That irritated her more than arrogance would have.
“Where is my mother?”
Straight to it.
Vittorio smiled.
“Your father did the same thing. No pleasantries.”
Adrian stood beside Elena.
“Answer her.”
Vittorio poured sparkling water.
“Your mother is safe.”
“With Isabella?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“That information has value.”
Elena stepped closer.
“My mother isn’t currency.”
“Everything is currency.”
He gestured toward a chair.
Elena remained standing.
Vittorio shrugged.
“Your company has approximately seventy-two hours before missed credit obligations trigger automatic transfer clauses.”
“To your trust.”
“Very good.”
“You buried poison inside contracts signed before I inherited them.”
“I created stability.”
“You created a trap.”
“A trap works only when someone steps into it.”
He looked toward Adrian.
“Your boyfriend’s lawyers should have read more carefully.”
Adrian’s eyes went cold.
Elena almost smiled.
“You called him my boyfriend just to annoy him.”
“Yes.”
“It worked.”
Adrian muttered something Sicilian.
Vittorio laughed.
For one surreal second, they looked like relatives at a tense holiday dinner.
Then Vittorio’s expression became serious.
“Sell me Pier Seventeen.”
“No.”
“I will release every debt claim, restore your insurance, withdraw the regulatory complaints, and provide the location of your mother.”
“No.”
Adrian glanced at her.
Vittorio studied her with new interest.
“You did not even consider it.”
“My father died protecting that property.”
“Your father died because he misunderstood its value.”
“What is under Pier Seventeen?”
Silence.
That told her enough.
“The cable,” she said.
Vittorio’s smile disappeared.
“So Antonio left records.”
“What are you planning to do with it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try the waitress.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Elena stepped nearer.
“I spent years listening while rich men discussed business like waitstaff were furniture. You’d be amazed what furniture learns.”
Vittorio’s eyes sharpened.
For the first time, she had touched his pride.
Good.
He walked toward the bar.
“The world runs on information. Governments pretend laws matter. Banks pretend money matters. What matters is knowing something ten minutes before everyone else.”
“And you want access to financial traffic.”
“I want insurance against chaos.”
“You want to manufacture chaos and profit from it.”
He didn’t deny it.
Adrian spoke.
“If you touch the pier—”
Vittorio interrupted.
“Violence is such an inefficient language.”
Elena saw something on his desk.
A photograph.
Her mother.
Recent.
Gray-haired.
Scarred along one side of her face.
Alive.
Elena lunged for it.
Vittorio didn’t stop her.
Her fingers shook.
A date was printed at the bottom.
Nine days earlier.
“Where?”
“Sell the pier.”
Elena stared at her mother’s face.
Then set the photograph down.
“No.”
Vittorio blinked.
“If she raised me the way I remember, she’d rather I never see her again than surrender what my father died protecting.”
For the first time, Vittorio looked angry.
Elena turned toward the door.
“We’re done.”
“Elena.”
She stopped.
“You have seventy-one hours.”
She looked back.
“So do you.”
Outside the suite, Adrian waited until the elevator doors closed.
“What exactly happens in seventy-one hours?”
Elena smiled faintly.
“No idea.”
Dominic groaned.
Adrian stared at her.
“You bluffed Vittorio De Luca.”
“I waited tables in Manhattan. I’ve bluffed worse.”
But when she looked again at the photograph hidden inside her coat, her smile vanished.
May you like
Her mother was alive.
And Elena intended to find her without paying Vittorio a single inch of American waterfront.
