Chapter 11 - Hostage in the Harbor: A Midnight Showdown at the Brooklyn Docks
They marched us into Warehouse 14, where the smell of salt water, diesel fuel, and damp concrete was overwhelming. Tied to heavy iron chairs in the center of the warehouse, Larkin and I faced Don Castiglione and the resurrected Victor Vance.
"Arthur Woods was a fool," Castiglione sneered, walking up to me and blowing cigar smoke into my face. "He thought he could expose our money laundering to the feds. So I had Vance crush his skull in an alleyway. And now, his little girl thought she could run New York."
Larkin strained against his thick steel chains, the veins in his neck bulging with murderous rage. "Touch her, Castiglione, and I will tear your limbs off one by one."
"You’re in no position to negotiate, Steves," Vance barked, pressing the cold muzzle of a revolver against my temple. "Where is the master encryption key, Penelope? Give us the access codes to the offshore accounts, or Larkin watches you die first."
I looked past the barrel of the gun, straight into Castiglione’s arrogant eyes.
"You really should have checked the collar of my jacket," I said softly.
May you like
Castiglione frowned. "What?"
"The diamond pin on my lapel isn't jewelry," I whispered, a cold, victorious smile spreading across my lips. "It’s a high-frequency transponder tied directly to the Steves private tactical division. And their countdown expired ten seconds ago."
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