Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Queens
The black armored SUV pulled into the subterranean parking garage beneath a converted warehouse in Long Island City thirty minutes later.
Marco Valetti was waiting by the elevator, holding a thick manila folder against his chest like a priest holding a Bible. As Dominic stepped out of the vehicle, his face carved from granite, Marco took one look at his boss and immediately knew something was wrong.
“Boss,” Marco said cautiously, falling into step beside him as Dominic strode toward the private elevator. “We got word from the docks. The shipment from Antwerp is delayed by forty-eight hours because of customs inspections.”
“Bribe them,” Dominic said flatly, his voice echoing off the concrete pillars.
“Already tried. The new inspector is clean. Won't take the envelope.”
“Then find something he isn't clean about,” Dominic snapped, pressing the private override button for the penthouse level where his Manhattan operations were managed. “A mistress, gambling debts, a brother with a record. I don't care how you do it, Marco. I want those containers cleared by tomorrow morning.”
“Consider it done,” Marco said, sliding into the elevator car behind him. He hesitated for a second, watching Dominic’s rigid profile in the mirrored wall. “You look... tired, boss. Everything okay at the estate?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in a small, sterile box of brushed steel and fluorescent light.
“Rosa hired someone,” Dominic said finally.
Marco blinked. “Rosa? For what? The housekeeping staff is full.”
“Not housekeeping,” Dominic muttered, staring at his own reflection in the doors. “A nanny. Her niece. Elena Vance.”
Marco’s eyes widened slightly—a rare show of surprise from a man who had survived thirty years in the Brooklyn underworld. “Elena? Wait... Elena Vance? The art history graduate from Columbia?”
Dominic turned his head sharply. “You know her?”
“Not personally,” Marco said, shifting his weight. “But her father was Arthur Vance—the city planner who got caught up in the zoning scandals back when you were consolidating the waterfront properties. He died of a heart attack five years ago, left the family with nothing. Rosa’s been sending money to help her pay off his debts.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “She’s twenty-four years old. She has no business being inside my house.”
“Well, boss,” Marco said carefully, “with all due respect, the girls haven't spoken a word since the funeral. If Rosa found someone who can get them to crack a smile, maybe—”
“She’s a liability,” Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping into the lethal register. “She knows who I am. She knows what I do. And she has zero respect for the perimeter.”
“She’s Rosa’s blood, Dominic,” Marco reminded him gently, using a tone only a few men alive were permitted to use with the boss. “Rosa raised you. If you throw her niece out on the street, Rosa will pack her bags and walk out with her. And good luck finding another cook who knows how to make your coffee without poisoning you.”
Dominic stared at him in silence for a long, heavy moment. Then the elevator chimed, the doors slid open to reveal the high-tech command center of his empire, and he stepped out into the noise of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and armed men monitoring security feeds from across the tri-state area.
But for the rest of the morning, no matter how many shipping manifests he signed or how many territory disputes he settled, he couldn't get the image out of his head:
May you like
Three little pairs of dark eyes hiding behind a flour-covered apron, and three words that had torn his world apart.
They won't survive.
