Chapter 32
Vincent slowly turned his head away from the window. His cold, intimidating eyes locked onto his underboss, his expression shifting instantly into a mask of pure, sociopathic calculation. "Senator Hayes," Vincent murmured, his deep, raspy voice utilizing terrifying, controlled pauses. "He believes... his political office... is a shield." Silas nodded grimly, his fair skin paling slightly under Vincent’s intense gaze. "He has already dispatched federal agents to harass our docks, Boss. He thinks he can bleed us dry financially since he cannot defeat us in a physical war." Vincent set his crystal glass of water down on the mahogany desk. The polished leather of his shoes made no sound as he walked toward the center of the room. "Political power," Vincent stated softly, "is an illusion. It is a piece of paper. We deal in blood and iron." He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, his heavily tattooed hands moving with measured precision. "I will not have federal agents swarming my ports. Find out where the Senator is tonight." "He is hosting a private fundraising gala at the Plaza Hotel," Silas replied. "Then we will attend," Vincent whispered. "And we will show him who truly governs this city."
