Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Medicine Cabinet
The Grand Ballroom of the Manhattan Plaza was a sea of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and men in tailored suits concealing automatic weapons beneath their silk jackets. The tension in the air was so dense it tasted metallic.
As Gabriel entered with me on his arm, the room fell into a sudden, eerie hush.
Vincenzo Moretti stood at the far end of the room near the marble fireplace. He was older than Gabriel, with silver hair slicked back and a face lined with cruel arrogance. Beside him stood Julianna, glaring at me with unbridled hatred.
"Gabriel!" Vincenzo called out, raising a glass of scotch as we approached. "The rumors of your resurrection were not exaggerated. You look remarkably well for a man who was allegedly on his deathbed forty-eight hours ago."
"Disappointed, Vincenzo?" Gabriel asked, his voice smooth and untroubled.
"Never," Vincenzo lied with a thin smile. "The Falcone-Moretti alliance is the bedrock of this city. Though I hear you dismissed our good Dr. Cole. A tragic misunderstanding, I'm sure."
While Gabriel engaged Vincenzo in the lethal verbal fencing match typical of mafia diplomacy, I let my gaze wander discreetly over the surrounding entourage.
I observed the bodyguards, the caporegimes, the foreign investors.
Nothing.
Then, a waiter approached with a silver tray of champagne flutes. Behind him walked a middle-aged man in a charcoal suit, wearing an antique gold pocket watch. He reached into his breast pocket to retrieve a handkerchief, and as he did, the sleeve of his shirt rode up.
Across his inner wrist was a faint, bluish chemical burn in the distinct shape of an anchor—the hallmark burn caused by the acid-washing process of high-tensile nitro-resin.
My breath caught.
The man was Leo Valenti—Gabriel's own Chief Financial Officer.
Valenti wasn't just managing the Falcone bank accounts; he was the bridge between Moretti's chemical suppliers and the medical team that had infiltrated Gabriel's inner sanctum.
I leaned into Gabriel, pretending to whisper a lover's secret.
"Your accountant," I breathed against his neck. "Left wrist. Acid burn from the Silk Harbor vats."
May you like
Gabriel didn't blink. He didn't even shift his eyes toward Valenti. He simply smiled at Vincenzo Moretti, raised his glass of sparkling water, and said:
"To family, Vincenzo. May the traitors among us bleed before the night is through."
