Chapter 5
The west wing library smelled of decaying calfskin bindings, old wax, and panic.
Oswald was on his knees before the stone fireplace, dragging a heavy green steel strongbox out from a cavity beneath the hearthstones. His knuckles were scraped, his blue dinner jacket thrown haphazardly across a wingback chair, revealing sweat stains beneath the arms of his dress shirt.
Standing by the heavy bay window was a younger man in a tailored grey double-breasted suit, a silk scarf tucked into his neck. Carmine Moretti, twenty-eight years old, leaned against the sill, watching Oswald’s frantic movements with cool, amused detachment.
"Hurry it up, Oswald," Carmine drawled, glancing at his platinum timepiece. "The boat is docked at the salt pier. If the coast guard changes shifts before we clear the narrows, my uncle isn't paying the courier fee."
Magnus stood behind the mahogany desk, his cane resting against his knees, his hands trembling as he poured four fingers of rye into a crystal tumbler. "The ledgers in that box contain every off-the-books manifest Arthur ran through the docks between ninety-two and two-thousand-eight. If your uncle uses them, he can seize forty percent of the Atlantic terminals without firing a single bullet."
"I know what's in the box, old man," Carmine said dismissively. "What I want to know is why you let that woman slap your son across the yard like a stray mutt."
Magnus’s face darkened with bitter humiliation. "Elspeth has the capos bought. She holds the union pension boards. But without the original charter deeds in that strongbox, her authority is paper-thin. When the Morettis back our petition before the Commission, the capos will come home."
"Will they?"
The voice did not come from the hallway. It came from the shadows beside the service staircase behind the bookshelves.
The panel swung inward with a dry click.
Elspeth stepped into the library. She did not have her gun drawn. Her hands were tucked casually into her pockets, her signet ring catching the faint green light filtering through the bay window.
Behind her stood Frank and Dominic, their broad frames blocking the narrow corridor completely.
Carmine Moretti straightened instantly, his hand dipping toward the inside pocket of his double-breasted jacket.
"I wouldn't touch that, Carmine," Dominic’s voice cut through the room like a cold knife. The veteran capo held a heavy suppressed pistol leveled at the bridge of Carmine’s nose. "Unless you want your uncle to receive your fingers in an envelope by five o'clock."
Carmine froze, his hand lingering inches from his lapel. He took a slow breath, raising both palms into the air with a tight, oily smile. "Mrs. Wycliffe. I was just admiring your uncle’s collection of first editions."
"You're trespassing on my property, Carmine," Elspeth said, walking slowly toward the center of the room. Her gaze didn't even acknowledge the young Moretti; it fell straight onto Oswald, who remained frozen on his knees beside the hearth, his hands still clutching the handle of the steel box.
"Oswald," she said softly. "You really are your father's child. Whenever you realize you cannot win by strength, you crawl to an enemy and beg for a leash."
"This is my family's heritage!" Oswald snarled from the floor, his voice shrill with desperation. "Arthur built this syndicate! My father stood beside him while you were still in private school! You have no right to lock us out!"
"Arthur built this syndicate by shooting two Moretti capos in the back of an alley in Hoboken," Elspeth said, stopping two feet from the green strongbox. "And now you're handing his private journals to their grandson like a frightened chambermaid."
She looked at Magnus.
The old man was clinging to the desk with both hands, his knuckles white, his breath whistling through his teeth.
"You gave him the combination, Magnus?" she asked.
"I gave him what was mine," Magnus spat, his courage returning now that he was cornered. "You think you can rule this city alone, Elspeth? A woman with two toddlers clinging to her skirts? The families will tear you apart! Carmine’s uncle has three crews ready to cross the river tonight!"
Elspeth smiled. It was a cold, razor-thin expression that sent a visible shudder through Carmine Moretti’s shoulders.
"Did your uncle tell you about the shipment arriving at Pier 14 at dawn, Carmine?" she asked quietly.
Carmine’s jaw tightened. "What shipment?"
"The four hundred crates of machine parts your family bought through the Panamanian front," Elspeth murmured, taking a slow step toward the window. "The ones you paid twelve million dollars for in cash last Tuesday."
May you like
Carmine’s eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I own the Panamanian front, Carmine," Elspeth whispered. "And two hours ago, my customs agents impounded the entire vessel in Boston harbor."
