Chapter 4 - Shadows Over Red Hook
By midnight, the dossier on Elena Rossi sat on Antonio’s mahogany desk. He sat in the dark of his study, the amber glow of a desk lamp illuminating the crisp papers inside the manila folder. Elena Rossi, née Vance. Born in Brooklyn. Married Daniel Rossi in 2021. Daniel worked as a foreman for Apex Construction until November 2024, when scaffolding collapsed on the thirty-second floor of a luxury high-rise in Long Island City. Three men died. Apex Construction paid a modest settlement, claiming equipment failure, and quietly closed its doors under that corporate name before reopening under another.
Antonio flipped to the next page. Current residence: A cramped, second-floor walk-up on Sackett Street in Red Hook. Rent-stabilized, but behind by two months. Working three jobs: housekeeping for wealthy Manhattan families, weekend shifts at a 24-hour laundromat, and occasional folding work for a local dry cleaner.
Antonio closed the folder and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Red Hook. The very territory where Costa’s men were trying to muscle in on Moretti shipping lines. It was a volatile neighborhood, full of old dockworkers, gritty tenement buildings, and restless young thugs looking to prove themselves to higher-ups.
At 6:00 AM, Damen walked into the study without knocking, looking irritable. “The Costa boys are making a move on pier fourteen this morning. They’re trying to intercept a container of Italian textiles coming in from Naples. I’m heading down there with twenty men to clear them out.”
“No,” Antonio said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. “I’m coming with you.”
Damen stared at him in disbelief. “Antonio, you haven’t worked a street-level dispute in three years. Leave it to me. I can handle a few low-level enforcers from Brooklyn.”
“I’m coming,” Antonio repeated, his voice carrying the finality of a judge passing sentence. “And on the way back, we’re taking a detour through Sackett Street.”
By 9:00 AM, the confrontation at Pier 14 was over almost before it began. When Antonio Moretti stepped out of his black Lincoln Navigator wearing a tailored charcoal overcoat and leather gloves, the three Costa enforcers standing near the container doors turned pale. They didn't draw their weapons; they dropped their crowbars, backed away slowly, and scrambled into their beat-up van, tearing rubber down the asphalt as they fled. Reputation was a powerful shield.
Once the area was secure, Antonio got back into the car and gave the driver a single address. Sackett Street.
The cab of the car climbed through the gritty, salt-aired streets of Red Hook until it pulled up in front of a weathered brick tenement building with peeling green trim. Antonio stepped out onto the damp pavement. He checked his watch. It was nearly ten in the morning. Elena would likely be out at her morning cleaning job, but he wasn't there for her.
He walked up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor, stopping in front of apartment 2B. He raised his hand and knocked twice.
Silence. Then, soft, pattering footsteps approached from the other side of the door.
May you like
A small click sounded as the latch turned, and the door swung open about six inches. A pair of big, curious brown eyes peeked through the gap. Mia recognized him instantly. She didn't look scared; instead, her face lit up with a bright, innocent smile.
“It’s the sad-heart Mister,” Mia whispered.
