Chapter 3 - The Tiny Clue
Daniel Cross tapped a key on his laptop, bringing up a high-resolution image of a document taken from Vincent’s office. It was a transfer order for twenty million dollars moving from a shell company in the Cayman Islands to an obscure Swiss bank account.
"This is the clue," Daniel said, pointing a finger at the screen. "Vincent didn't just turn rogue last week. He's been bleeding the organization dry for three years. The Boston ambush story is a cover-up for an internal coup he planned long before he ever tied you to that chair."
Lorenzo stared at the account number. His expression hardened into absolute stillness. "The Swiss account. It belongs to Viktor Vance."
Marcus drew in a sharp breath. "Vance? The old Bratva boss we pushed out of Brooklyn back in 2012? I thought he was dead."
"He was presumed dead," Lorenzo corrected, his voice dropping an octave. "Vincent must have made a deal with him. Vance supplies the muscle; Vincent provides the empire. And in exchange, they split the ports."
Sophia listened from the doorway, holding a sleeping Emma in her arms. The child had finally exhausted herself playing with her stuffed rabbit, her breathing soft and even against Sophia's shoulder.
"What do we do now, Mr. DeLuca?" Sophia asked.
"We go to the meeting," Lorenzo said, sitting up entirely, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder. He reached for the black button-down shirt hanging over the chair. "Vincent expects me to be dead. He expects my captains to fall in line out of fear. But when I walk through those doors tomorrow night, every man in that room will know the truth."
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"Your shoulder can't take a firefight," Marcus warned.
"Who said anything about a firefight?" Lorenzo fastened his cuff links, his eyes gleaming with cold tactical brilliance. "We are going to play a psychological game. And Vincent is going to unravel all by himself."
