Chapter 5 - The Price of a Sparkler
The third-floor hallway smelled of boiled cabbage, damp insulation, and stale cigarette smoke.
Jimmy the Wrench stood outside apartment 3B, pounding his steel tire iron against the dented metal door with deafening blows.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
"Open the damn door, Maya!" Jimmy roared, his gravelly voice echoing off the peeling floral wallpaper.
"I know you're in there! You got my money, or do I need to start taking your furniture out the window?!"
He raised the iron bar to strike the door again, but a hand suddenly gripped his wrist from behind.
The grip was made of reinforced steel, closing around his tendons with enough pressure to bring tears to his eyes instantly.
"Drop the iron," a low, cultured voice murmured directly behind his ear.
Jimmy yelped in pain, his fingers involuntarily opening as the heavy tool clattered harmlessly onto the worn carpet.
He spun around, reaching into his jacket for his revolver, but Victor Rossi’s fist caught him squarely across the bridge of his nose.
Cartilage crunched sickeningly, and Jimmy collapsed backward against Maya’s apartment door, blood spraying across his leather jacket.
Before Jimmy could recover, two heavily built men in tactical gear pinned him against the wall, their weapons pressed firmly behind his ears.
Down on the street, the sound of muffled shouts and shattering glass signaled that Jimmy's two associates had been neutralized without firing a single shot.
Gabriel stepped forward into the dim light of the hallway bulb, his leather gloves spotless, his eyes looking down at the groveling collector with pure disdain.
"Do you know who I am, Mr. Silva?" Gabriel asked softly.
Jimmy blinked through the blood flowing into his eyes, his breath hitching in his chest as he recognized the striking silver hair and the scarred jawline.
"Russo..." Jimmy choked out, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated panic. "Mr. Russo! Sir! I... I didn't know! I didn't know she was yours!"
"She is not mine," Gabriel replied calmly, stepping closer until his polished shoes were inches from Jimmy's knees.
"She is an honest woman trying to feed her children. And you threatened to take her six-year-old son over five thousand dollars."
"Her husband owed the money, Mr. Russo!" Jimmy pleaded, groveling on the filthy carpet, pressing his palms together.
"Richard Collins ran up forty grand at the underground poker tables in Queens! I was just collecting on behalf of the syndicate!"
Gabriel tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Which syndicate, Jimmy?"
"Sal... Salvatore Moretti," Jimmy wheezed, terrified for his life. "The Moretti family bought the debt book three weeks ago! They told me to squeeze her!"
Gabriel’s eyes hardened into flint.
The Morettis were his chief rivals, a ruthless faction that had been attempting to encroach upon his northern shipping corridors for eighteen months.
They weren't just squeezing a helpless widow for pocket change; they were testing the borders of his territory to see who was paying attention.
"How much did Richard Collins owe in total?" Gabriel asked, his tone flat and unreadable.
"Forty-two thousand with the juice, sir!" Jimmy cried. "I swear, that's all of it!"
Gabriel reached into the inner breast pocket of his tailored overcoat, pulling out a thick, sealed manila envelope.
He dropped it onto Jimmy's lap; it landed with a heavy, satisfying thud.
"There is fifty thousand dollars in that envelope, Mr. Silva," Gabriel said.
Jimmy stared at the cash in utter shock, unable to believe he was still breathing.
"Take the money, clear the ledger, and leave this city tonight," Gabriel commanded, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Jimmy's arms stand up.
"If you ever speak Maya Collins’s name again, if you ever look in the direction of her children, I will not send Victor."
May you like
"I will come for you myself."
Jimmy nodded frantically, clutching the envelope to his chest as Victor’s men hauled him down the stairwell like a sack of laundry.
