Chapter 7 - The Message
Ten minutes later, Frankie Varga was sitting in the back of his own SUV, his hands zip-tied tightly behind his back, his five henchmen kneeling in the snow under the watchful eyes of Derek’s assault team.
Vincent stood in front of Frankie, holding a secure satellite phone connected directly to Sal Moretti’s private line in downtown Denver.
The line clicked open.
"Frankie?" Sal Moretti’s raspy, arrogant voice came through the speaker. "Tell me you have the ledger. Tell me Caruso is finished."
Vincent raised the phone to his mouth. "He doesn't have the ledger, Sal."
Silence descended on the line—a thick, suffocating silence that lasted several long seconds.
"Caruso," Sal spat, his tone instantly shifting from arrogance to venomous rage. "How did you find out?"
"You made two mistakes, Sal," Vincent said, leaning against the hood of the SUV as the wind howled around them. "First, you thought you could buy a man’s loyalty with fear. Second, you thought you could invade my home on Christmas Eve."
"Listen to me, Caruso," Sal growled over the line. "I have Julian’s son. If you touch my men, I’ll have the boy killed before sunrise!"
"Julian’s son is currently being retrieved by my men in Gary, Indiana," Vincent replied smoothly, looking at his watch. "My Chicago team secured the warehouse fifteen minutes ago. The boy is safe. Your loan sharks are currently swimming in Lake Michigan."
Sal gasped, coughing violently over the receiver. "You... you bastard!"
"Here is how this ends, Sal," Vincent continued, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute, unyielding dominance. "Frankie and his men are coming back to Denver tonight. They will arrive in your driveway in one hour. If I ever see your name, your men, or your interests near my territory again, the contents of my ledger—the part that details your private bribe payments to the state governor and the federal judge—will be sitting on the desk of every news director in North America."
"You wouldn't..." Sal whimpered, his voice suddenly sounding old and frail. "That would ruin you too!"
"I have enough money to buy an island and live comfortably for three lifetimes, Sal," Vincent said softly. "You have forty-eight hours to retire and leave the state. If you are still in Colorado by Monday morning, I won't send my guards. I’ll send the federal government."
May you like
Vincent hung up the phone without waiting for a response. He tossed the satellite phone into Frankie’s lap.
"Drive them back to Denver, Derek," Vincent ordered, turning toward his personal car. "And make sure Sal understands that I don't give second warnings."
