Chapter 3 - The Black Snake
The air inside the broken flower shop turned instantly freezing, a coldness that had nothing to do with the storm raging outside.
Dante did not flinch. His eyes did not widen. He looked at the yellow paper between my fingers as if it were a minor printing error on a balance sheet. "Leo, you know how many documents pass through my office every day. My signature stamp is used by dozens of clerks. It's a forgery. Someone is trying to frame me to divert your attention from the real threat."
"The real threat?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
"The Moretti name is being dragged through the mud on Wells Street," Dante said, pointing toward the shattered window. "The local gangs are getting bold. They’re using our invoices, our names, our codes to extort small businesses. If we don't respond with force, we look weak."
"We will respond with force," I whispered. "But first, we find the snake."
I turned to Luca, who was just hanging up his phone. "Is the doctor on his way?"
"He'll be at the clinic in ten minutes, Boss," Luca said. "The transport team is outside."
"Good. Take the woman and the girl. Keep them secure. Nobody touches them, nobody talks to them unless they go through you." I looked back at Dante, whose fingers were still tucked into his pockets. "Dante, you're coming with me to the warehouse on 4th. We're going to check the distribution logs ourselves."
"Of course, Leo," Dante said, stepping back to let me pass. "Whatever you need to clear my name."
The drive to the 4th Street warehouse was a descent into the industrial belly of the city. The rain had slowed to a steady, grey drizzle, casting a ghostly mist over the rows of rusted iron structures and abandoned brick factories that lined the canal.
The warehouse was a massive, windowless building that we used to store everything from imported olive oil to smuggled cigarettes. It was a place where things were brought to be hidden, or to be broken.
When the Cadillac pulled inside the massive iron doors, the smell of diesel and damp cardboard was suffocating. Three of my men stood near a forklift, their faces pale as they saw my car enter.
I got out of the back seat, the crumpled yellow invoice still in my hand.
"Bring me Marco," I commanded the nearest man, a burly enforcer named Gino.
"He's... he's not here, Boss," Gino stuttered, his eyes darting toward Dante before returning to his boots. "He left about an hour ago. Said he had a delivery to make on Grand."
"Where is his locker?" I asked.
Gino pointed toward a row of battered green metal lockers near the back office.
I walked over, Luca close behind me, while Dante remained by the car, his arms crossed over his chest. I didn't wait for Gino to find a key. I nodded to Luca, who took a heavy crowbar from a nearby tool rack and jammed it into the locker door, twisting it until the metal latch gave way with a loud, metallic shriek.
Inside the locker were a few dirty uniforms, a pack of cigarettes, and a small, leather-bound notebook.
I pulled the notebook out and flipped through the pages. It was filled with lists of names, dates, and numbers. Most of them were small businesses in the Wells and Grand area—grocery stores, bakeries, dry cleaners. But next to each name was a second column of numbers, written in a different colored ink.
And at the top of every page, written in the same sharp, elegant hand as the invoice, was a single instruction:
Pay the black snake.
"Marco didn't write this," I said, holding the notebook up for Luca to see. "This is a secondary ledger. A shadow extortion ring, running right under our noses, using our distribution network to bleed the neighborhood dry."
"And the money?" Luca asked, his voice low.
"It's not going to the Moretti accounts," I said. "The tracking codes in this book belong to a private offshore account in the Caymans. An account registered under a shell corporation called DR Enterprises."
Before I could turn around, a sudden, sharp sound echoed through the warehouse—the sound of a car engine roaring to life.
I spun around.
Dante was already in the driver's seat of the Cadillac, the heavy armored doors locked from the inside. The car slammed into reverse, the tires screaming against the concrete floor as he tore toward the open warehouse doors. Gino and the other men scrambled out of the way, throwing themselves behind concrete pillars as the massive vehicle sped past them and vanished into the rainy night.
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"Boss!" Luca yelled, his gun drawn, but he knew as well as I did that the Cadillac was fully bulletproof.
"He won't go far," I said, my voice dead and cold. "He has too much to lose in this city. He's going to try to empty the accounts first. Luca, get the SUV. We're going to the docks."
