Chapter 3 - The Basement under the Docks
The air beneath the abandoned meatpacking plant on the East River smelled of salt, rust, and damp concrete.
Two dim bulb lights hung from rusted chains above the center of the room. Tied to two heavy iron chairs were Dr. Samuel Sterling—wearing a rumpled linen suit, his expensive glasses crooked on his nose—and Marco Ricci, his arm crudely bandaged, bleeding through his torn silk shirt.
I walked down the concrete steps slowly, Bruno pacing right at my heel.
Tony handed me a pair of black leather gloves. I pulled them on, finger by finger, watching the two men squirm in their seats.
"Please! Mr. DeLuca!" Dr. Sterling sobbed, his voice echoing off the damp walls. "I didn't know it was a kid! Harlan told me it was an adult target—an informant! He paid me fifty thousand dollars just to sign the paper and deliver the transport body to the funeral home!"
I stopped two feet from the coroner. "You signed a death certificate for a seven-year-old child without checking her pulse, Doctor."
"Harlan's men brought her to the morgue in a body bag!" Sterling cried, tears streaming down his oily face. "They gave me the file! They said the autopsy was waived by family request! I just signed the line! I swear to God!"
I turned my eyes toward Marco.
"And you, Marco?" I asked softly. "What was your price for helping Harlan kidnap a child from my territory?"
Marco looked up, his lip split, his left eye swollen shut. "It wasn't about money, Leo," he rasped out, coughing blood onto the floor. "Harlan has the tapes."
I tilted my head. "What tapes?"
"Five years ago... Carlo's death," Marco whispered, his voice trembling. "Harlan recorded the meeting. He had footage of me dropping off the security codes to Carlo’s house in Brooklyn. He told me if I didn't help him set up the trafficking pipeline through the Queens docks, he’d send the video to you."
The concrete floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
Carlo. My cousin. My blood. The man whose picture sat on my mantelpiece, whose children I supported, whose murder I had spent five years trying to avenge.
"You killed Carlo," I whispered. My voice was dangerously calm, dropping into an abyss of pure, unadulterated rage.
"He was going to pass me over!" Marco screamed, losing his mind in terror. "You were going to make Carlo your underboss! Twelve years I worked for you, Leo! Twelve years I took the bullets while Carlo sat in his plush office! Harlan offered me a way out!"
Bruno let out a guttural snarl, taking a step forward, his claws scraping against the concrete.
"So when Elena Vasquez saw you meeting Harlan’s men at the docks three days ago," I said, piecing the nightmare together, "you panicked. You didn't hit her with a car. You grabbed her, injected her with Harlan’s toxin, and had Sterling declare her dead so she would be buried before she could speak."
Marco bowed his head, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, Leo... I'm sorry..."
I took a deep breath, looking up at the water dripping from the ceiling.
"Tony," I said quietly.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Dr. Sterling goes to the police chief," I instructed. "Hand over the signed death certificate, the paralytic toxin records, and his bank transfers from Harlan. Let the federal prosecutors handle him."
"And Marco?" Tony asked, reaching for his weapon.
"No," I said, holding up a hand. "Death is too fast for Marco."
I leaned down until my nose was inches from Marco’s ear.
"You're going to call Harlan," I whispered. "You're going to tell him the Vasquez girl was successfully buried, that the funeral is over, and that Leo DeLuca suspects nothing. You're going to invite him to the warehouse on 14th Street tonight to collect his shipment."
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Marco blinked through his bloodied eye. "And... and then?"
"And then," I smiled—a terrifying, cold smile that held no warmth—"you're going to sit in that chair and watch what happens when Victor Harlan finally meets my dog."
