Chapter 6 - The Ghost of Three Years Ago
The rain over the Brooklyn navy yard fell in heavy, gray sheets, hammering against the rusted corrugated iron roofs of Pier 14.
Inside Warehouse 8, the air was cold, smelling of saltwater, diesel fuel, and old iron.
Suspended high above the concrete floor, a single industrial floodlight cast a harsh circle of white illumination over a dark wooden chair bolted to the ground.
Surrounding the circle of light were twenty of the highest-ranking Capos of the Moretti crime family, dressed in heavy black coats, their faces stern, their hands buried in their pockets.
Bound tightly to the wooden chair with heavy steel cable was Julian Vance.
His expensive suit was torn, his nose was bloody, and his silver signet ring lay shattered on the concrete at his feet. Standing beside him, also bound and kneeling on the cold floor, was his older brother, Dr. Arthur Vance.
Standing in front of them, holding a black leather folder, was Lucas Moretti.
"Lucas! Please!" Julian screamed, his sharp voice echoing frantically through the cavernous warehouse. "This is a mistake! Gabriel set us up! It was Gabriel who ordered the security breach in Jersey! We were loyal to your father! We were loyal to you!"
Lucas opened the leather folder. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't show anger. He read from the papers inside with the cold, methodical precision of a judge pronouncing a final sentence.
"Three years ago," Lucas began, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain outside, "a car bomb exploded outside Il Nido restaurant in Queens. My wife, Sofia, and my son, Leo, were killed instantly."
The Capos in the shadow shifted uncomfortably. That night was a scar on the soul of the entire family.
"For three years," Lucas continued, "I was told by Julian Vance that the bomb was manufactured by the Falcone family. I was given forged intelligence reports that led us into a war that cost thirty of our men their lives and made Julian Vance three million dollars in diverted weapons contracts."
Lucas pulled a yellowed sheet of paper from the file.
"This," Lucas said, holding up the paper, "is the original manifest for the military-grade C4 used in that bomb. Sourced from a private armory in Long Island. Signed for by Dr. Arthur Vance under the guise of medical demolition supplies."
Dr. Vance wept silently, his head hanging low, his silver pipe nowhere to be found.
"You killed my son," Lucas whispered, stepping closer until he was inches from Julian’s bloody face. "You killed a four-year-old boy because you wanted control of the family’s shipping lines. And last night, when your poison failed to stop my heart because a six-year-old girl gave me her last breath, you stood over me in the hallway and kicked my medication away."
Julian’s face went completely gray. His eyes rolled in terror as he looked at the surrounding Capos. He looked for help, for support, for a single ally in the room.
None came.
Every boss in the circle stared at him with pure, unadulterated disgust. In their world, violence was a business tool, but killing a Don’s child and attempting to murder the boss from within his own house was an unpardonable sin that broke the sacred foundation of the family.
"Who else?" Lucas asked softly. "Which Falcone boss bought your loyalty?"
Julian sobbed, blood dripping from his chin onto his ruined tie. "Don Carmine... Carmine Falcone promised us forty percent of the docks... he said you were obsessed with revenge... he said you were weak..."
Lucas closed the leather folder. He handed it to Victor, who stood silent as a statue behind him.
"Gabriel," Lucas called out.
Gabriel Moretti stepped out of the shadows, pulling a heavy silver revolver from his coat.
"Take them to the deep water at Pier 14," Lucas commanded, turning his back on the traitors. "Ensure their names are erased from every ledger this family owns."
"Lucas! No! MERCY! LUCAS!" Julian shrieked as Gabriel’s men dragged the two brothers screaming across the concrete floor toward the rain-drenched docks outside.
Lucas walked out of the warehouse into the cold night air.
He stood near the edge of the dark water, listening to the heavy waves crashing against the wooden pylons. The rain washed over his face, cold and clean, carrying away the lingering scent of old smoke and betrayal that had haunted his life for three long years.
He pulled his satellite phone from his pocket and pressed speed dial.
After two rings, a warm, quiet voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Rosa," Lucas said. His voice was tired, but for the first time in three years, the heavy, suffocating iron band around his chest felt loose. "Is Lily asleep?"
"She just went down," Rosa said softly over the clear satellite line. "We’re in the cabin in Vermont. It’s... it’s so quiet here, Mr. Moretti. You can see the mountains."
"Don't call me Mr. Moretti," Lucas said, looking out over the dark skyline of New York. "Call me Lucas."
There was a short pause on the line. "Is it over, Lucas?"
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"The shadow is gone," Lucas replied softly. "I am coming to Vermont tomorrow. Tell Lily I have her new drawing pencils."
"She’ll be waiting," Rosa whispered, her voice filled with a sweet, quiet relief that made Lucas’s heart beat with a warmth he thought had died years ago in Queens. "We both will."
