Chapter 9 - The Last Supper
No one moved when Gabriel entered. The captains looked from the soot on his collar to Norah at his side, then to Vincent occupying his chair. Two men lowered their eyes. Three reached instinctively beneath their jackets and stopped when federal agents emerged silently at the service entrances.
At Paulie’s empty place setting, Vincent had poured a glass of his favorite bourbon and laid a black mourning ribbon across the plate. The gesture was meant to look respectful. Norah recognized it as ownership: Vincent had arranged the table, selected the dead man’s symbol, and seated himself where the next victim belonged. She moved the bourbon away and placed Paulie’s prepaid phone on the plate. Several captains recognized it. One whispered Paulie’s name, and the room’s practiced silence began to fracture. Vincent did not stand. “You look terrible.” Gabriel crossed the dining room without hurrying. “You sound disappointed.” Norah saw the strain beneath his composure, but the monitor at his waist kept a steady rhythm. He placed Rosa’s scorched photograph in front of Vincent and set the brass key on top of it. The small impact sounded louder than a gunshot.
Vincent’s fingers tightened around the letters. “That woman filled your head with weakness before you were old enough to recognize it.”
“My mother filled my stomach when you were stealing relief money from her building.” Gabriel remained standing. “Paulie found the transfers. You poisoned him. Then you poisoned me and scheduled this meeting before your warehouse burned.”
Vincent looked around the table. “He is ill. Grief has made him delusional.”
Detective Monroe entered through the study. “Dr. Mercer is in custody. He gave us the bottles, the accounts, and both medical examiners.” She placed a speaker on the table. Rosa’s recorded voice filled the room: Vincent says the buildings are empty before his men light them. They aren’t.
Paulie’s image followed on the penthouse screen. He held up the amber bottle and named the missing accounts. Vincent looked toward the captains as though expecting habit to outweigh proof. Instead, Paulie’s closest friend shoved his chair back and asked why the emergency council had been scheduled before the warehouse fire. Vincent told him to sit down. The man remained standing. For the first time, Vincent’s control cracked. “Turn that off.” Norah watched him defend himself before Monroe accused him of the fire. “It’s her voice,” she said. “You recognize it.”
Vincent stood. “I recognize a dead woman who never understood what survival costs.” He reached inside his coat. Gabriel moved between him and Norah, but Vincent did not draw a gun. He held the same kind of amber bottle Mercer had used, uncapped and half full. “Sit down, Gabriel. Your heart has already had enough.”
The captains nearest him recoiled. The bottle was not a weapon to anyone who had not seen Paulie die. To everyone in that room, it was a confession.
Vincent seized Norah by the arm and dragged her against him, pressing the open bottle near her mouth. “Agents back out, or she drinks.” His voice had lost its paternal softness. “You think one waitress is worth losing everything?”
Gabriel’s hand hovered near his weapon. Days earlier, rage would have answered for him. Norah saw him force it down. “She is not a thing I own,” he said. “Neither was Rosa.”
Vincent’s grip shifted. Norah felt the movement before she saw it and drove her heel down onto his instep. As his balance broke, she trapped his wrist against her chest instead of pulling away, keeping the bottle pointed from her face. Gabriel crossed the distance in one step, struck Vincent’s forearm against the table, and caught the bottle when it fell. Federal agents closed around them. Vincent reached for the pistol at his back, but Gabriel removed it first.
For three seconds, Gabriel held a loaded gun against the man who had isolated his mother, burned her building, murdered Paulie, poisoned him, and tried to kill Norah. The room waited for the version of Gabriel that Vincent had spent twenty years creating.
Vincent smiled through blood at the corner of his mouth. “I made you. I burned one stubborn woman, and you built me a kingdom.”
Gabriel’s finger eased away from the trigger. “You kept me angry so I wouldn’t look at you.” He handed the pistol to Monroe.
She cuffed Vincent while agents collected the amber bottle. He began shouting orders at the captains, but no one obeyed. Paulie’s oldest friend stood and turned his own weapon over to an agent. Another followed. The authority Vincent had treated as permanent disappeared in the time it took twelve frightened men to realize he could no longer punish the first one who moved.
Monroe faced Gabriel. “Gabriel Hayes, turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
May you like
Norah’s breath caught even though she had known this moment was coming. Gabriel removed his watch and set it beside Rosa’s key. He looked at the city once, then complied. The agents read charges that had nothing to do with Rosa: racketeering, extortion, illegal gambling, bribery, conspiracy. Exposing Vincent did not erase the people Gabriel himself had frightened or harmed.
As Monroe led him toward the elevator, Gabriel stopped beside Norah. “Benny’s kitchen needs a new stove,” he said. Tears burned her eyes despite the absurdity of the sentence. “You’re being arrested.” Gabriel looked at the photograph on the table. “I noticed. Make sure she gets a proper frame.” Norah lifted the scorched wood carefully. “No. The burns stay.” Gabriel nodded. For once, he did not try to control what survived him.
