Chapter 4 - The Grave in New Jersey
By midnight, the basement of an abandoned dry-cleaning warehouse in Queens had been converted into an interrogation room that smelled of damp concrete and raw terror. Tied securely to a steel chair in the center of the room was a terrified, low-level enforcer named Jimmy "The Roach" Gallo, who had been spotted lurking three blocks away from Vivien’s bakery just hours before the abduction.
Roman stood in the shadows just outside the pool of overhead light, slowly spinning his wedding ring around his finger. He hadn't spoken a single word since they dragged Jimmy inside thirty minutes ago.
Leo was doing the talking, and Leo’s version of talking involved a pair of heavy-duty industrial pliers and a very calm demeanor.
"I swear to God, Mr. Mercer, I didn't know!" Jimmy sobbed, his nose bleeding freely down his chin, soaking into his cheap nylon jacket. "They told me to watch the back door! They said if she walked out alone, grab her. That’s all I knew!"
Leo casually tossed the pliers onto a metal table with a deafening clatter. "Who is 'they', Jimmy? Because my boss here is losing his patience, and quite frankly, so am I."
"It was Marcus!" Jimmy screamed, thrashing against the ropes. "Marcus Vance! He’s alive! I swear on my mother’s grave, I saw him! He’s the one who gave the order!"
Roman stepped out of the shadows, his boots clicking rhythmically against the concrete floor. He stopped two feet away from the trembling enforcer, leaning down until his eyes were level with Jimmy’s bloodshot, dilated pupils.
"Marcus Vance," Roman repeated, his voice dangerously soft, carrying the weight of a sledgehammer. "The man whose skull I personally cracked open with a tire iron before dumping his body into the Arthur Kill River in 2019. That Marcus Vance?"
"Yes! Yes, that one!" Jimmy wept, hyperventilating. "He didn't die, Roman! Someone pulled him out! He’s been hiding in South America for years, building a crew, waiting for you to get soft, waiting for you to build an empire just so he could tear it down piece by piece!"
Roman stood up straight, his face an impenetrable mask of pure ice.
Seven years ago, Marcus Vance had tried to usurp Roman’s territory, threatening everyone Roman cared about at the time. Roman had hunted him down in a rusted warehouse and left him for dead. There had been no dental records checked because the body had been weighted down and dropped into a fast-moving shipping channel—a mistake born of arrogance, arrogance that had just come back to collect its bloody interest.
"Where is he taking her?" Roman asked, his voice dropping into a register that made even Leo step back.
"The old sugar refinery," Jimmy sobbed, gasping for air. "Down by the Red Hook waterfront. Pier 42. He... he said he wanted to give you a front-row seat to watch everything you love turn to ash, just like he did."
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Roman didn't wait to hear another word. He turned on his heel, gesturing sharply to Leo and the twenty heavily armed enforcers waiting in the outer bay.
"Get the trucks," Roman snarled, pulling the slide of his Sig Sauer back with a sharp, metallic clack. "Tonight, we exhume a ghost."
