Chapter 4 - The Debt Collector's Knock
Gabriel took a slow sip of his black espresso, setting the porcelain cup down without making a sound.
"Victor," Gabriel called out softly.
The kitchen door swung open instantly, revealing Victor standing just outside the threshold with his tablet.
"I heard, boss," Victor said grimly. "Jimmy Silva. He runs small-time loan-sharking out of an auto body shop on Nepperhan Avenue in Yonkers."
"He operates on the fringes of the Rizzo family territory, but he's not an inducted soldier. Just a low-level enforcer running dirty money."
Gabriel stood up from the table, adjusting his cufflinks with methodical precision.
"Call our driver," Gabriel said. "We are going to Yonkers."
Maya gasped, rising from her chair in absolute panic. "Mr. Russo, please! If Jimmy sees you with me, he'll become violent! He carries weapons!"
Gabriel looked down at the young mother, a very faint, grim smile touching the corner of his lips.
"Mrs. Collins, I assure you, whatever weapons Mr. Silva carries are toys compared to the resources of this house."
He turned to Maria, the housekeeper. "Prepare two guest suites on the second floor. Mrs. Collins and her children will be staying here tonight."
"No, sir, I couldn't possibly impose—" Maya began, but Gabriel raised a single finger, cutting off her protest.
"You gave me a birthday present, Khloe," Gabriel said, looking down at the little girl whose face was covered in blue frosting.
"And where I come from, when someone gives you a gift, you return the favor with interest."
Two hours later, an unmarked black SUV pulled up across the street from a dilapidated four-story apartment building in south Yonkers.
The autumn wind blew trash across the cracked asphalt, and the streetlights flickered erratically in the encroaching twilight.
Inside the vehicle, Gabriel sat in the backseat, wearing a heavy charcoal wool overcoat, watching the rusted front stoop through tinted glass.
Victor sat in the front passenger seat, checking the magazine of his standard-issue sidearm.
At exactly 7:15 p.m., a rusted maroon sedan screeched up to the curb in front of Maya’s building.
A burly man wearing a stained leather bomber jacket and heavy work boots stepped out, slamming the car door hard enough to rattle the frame.
He held a heavy steel tire iron loosely in his right hand, swinging it rhythmically against his thigh as he climbed the concrete steps.
"That's Silva," Victor confirmed, glancing into the rearview mirror. "He brought two associates with him. They're waiting in the car."
"Wait until he reaches the third-floor landing," Gabriel instructed, his voice as smooth and cold as polished ice.
"I want him to believe he is completely alone when the universe corrects his mistake."
Victor nodded, picking up his radio to coordinate with two chase vehicles idling around the corner.
May you like
Gabriel stepped out of the SUV into the crisp October night air, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves.
He didn't run, and he didn't draw a gun; he walked up the crumbling steps of the tenement building with the unhurried elegance of an emperor visiting the slums.
