Chapter 3 - The Interrogation of Shadows
Dr. Vance arrived in a screech of tires exactly nine minutes later, his medical bag clutched like a shield. Vance was an old-school underground surgeon who had patched up half of Marchetti’s crew over the past two decades. He took one look at Claire, swore softly in Italian, and immediately set to work on the makeshift operating theater they had hastily set up in the apartment's larger bedroom.
Enzo stood in the hallway, his face carved from granite. Ray leaned against the peeling wallpaper beside him, smoking an unlit cigarette.
"The neighbors?" Enzo asked, his voice deadpan.
"Old couple down the hall," Ray replied. "Dafydd and Martha. Deaf as posts, blind in one eye. Didn't see a thing, didn't hear a thing. But I checked the alley security camera from the bodega across the street. Two guys. Professional build. Clean cuts, tactical boots. Not local street thugs. These were pros from the West Side crew—Vance’s men."
Enzo’s eyes narrowed. The West Side crew. Salvatore Rossi. An old rival who had been trying to muscle into Marchetti territory for the past six months, operating under the delusion that Enzo was getting soft.
"Salvatore," Enzo stated, not a question.
"Has to be," Ray nodded. "They must have found out about the meeting. Or maybe they found out about Claire. Word gets around when a Marchetti starts looking at normal lives."
"Where is Salvatore tonight?"
"The Blue Orchid. Private room in the back. Playing poker with his lieutenants."
Enzo turned slowly, his gaze drifting toward the bedroom door where Dr. Vance was working to stabilize Claire. He could hear the faint, steady beep of a portable heart monitor they had rushed in. She was holding on. She had to.
"Take care of Sadie," Enzo instructed Ray. "Keep her here. Put three men on the door. If a fly farts within fifty yards of this building, I want to know about it."
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"And you, Boss?"
"I have a poker game to crash."
