Chapter 8 - The Gathering Storm
It was a warm Friday evening in late May.
I was sitting at the wooden dining table in our apartment, reviewing my intermediate accounting textbook, while Chloe was happily sketching pictures of sailboats on the living room rug.
My cell phone buzzed loudly against the tabletop.
I glanced down at the screen. An unknown number.
I hesitated, then swiped to answer.
“Hello?”
“Grace Bennett?”
The voice on the other end wasn't James Moretti. It was older, sharper, laced with a cold, polished malice that made the hairs on the back of my arms stand up instantly.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“My name is Donald Vance,” the voice replied smoothly. “I believe you work for—or rather, are associated with—Mr. James Moretti.”
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. I stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.
“I don't know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice shaking. “Please don't call this number again.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Bennett, don't hang up,” Vance purred, the sound of ice clinking in a glass coming clearly through the speaker. “You see, James Moretti has spent the last six months playing the role of a knight in shining armor for you and your little girl. But empires built on blood always fall. And tonight, Moretti’s empire is coming crashing down.”
“What do you want?” I demanded, panic rising in my throat.
“I want you to deliver a message to your benefactor when he visits his favorite restaurant tonight,” Vance said coldly. “Tell him that the North End belongs to the Vance syndicate now. And if he doesn't hand over the harbor properties by midnight... we’ll start collecting collateral. Starting with a certain little girl named Chloe.”
Click.
The line went dead.
May you like
I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, the phone pressed against my ear, listening to the hollow dial tone.
They were coming for James. And worse... they knew about us.
