Chapter 5 - The Council of Ghosts
By three o'clock that afternoon, the stone brownstone felt less like a sanctuary and more like a tomb awaiting its occupant.
The news of Silvio’s murder had traveled through the Harbor City underworld like wildfire. The captains who had skipped Dominic’s birthday were now officially paying their respects to Carmine at his social club in the North End. Dominic’s empire hadn't just fractured; it had liquefied, running into the gutters of the city until nothing was left but the stone house on the hill.
But Dominic wasn't hiding.
In the center of the great library, beneath a massive crystal chandelier that remained dark to avoid drawing attention from the road, Dominic sat at his mahogany desk. Spread across the leather surface were old paper maps of the Harbor City waterfront—hand-drawn blueprints from the 1950s that showed hidden tunnels, abandoned rail spurs, and subterranean cargo vaults that didn't exist on any digital city planning archive.
Tony Bell stood behind him, a heavy tactical vest visible beneath his open flannel shirt.
"We have four guys left at the gate, Boss," Tony said, his voice tight with fatigue. "Marcus is watching the rear lane. The rest... they checked out. Took their cut from the safe in the basement and split before noon. They said there's no point in dying for a guy who can't get down the stairs if the house catches fire."
Dominic didn't look up from the map. He traced a line running from the North Pier down into the salt marshes south of the city. "Let them go. Mercenaries are only good when you’re winning. In a siege, they just eat your food and steal your silver."
The heavy oak doors of the library pushed open.
Nora walked in carrying a silver tray. On it sat a fresh, golden-brown loaf of brioche, a small dish of salted butter, and a pot of black coffee. She set the tray down on the corner of the desk, right on top of a blueprint for a shipping container facility.
Dominic looked at the bread, then at her. "I told you to stay in the back suite."
"And I told you I'm not a prisoner," Nora said, folding her arms. She looked down at the maps. "You're looking at the wrong place if you want to catch Carmine."
Tony let out a short, annoyed breath. "Lady, with all due respect, you make cookies. We handle the docks."
Nora didn't even look at Tony. She kept her green eyes fixed on Dominic. "My father worked the night shift at Pier 9 for thirty years before the asbestos killed him. Carmine doesn't care about the container ships, Dominic. He’s lazy. He’s always been lazy. He wants the easy money—the distribution hubs near the interstate."
She reached out, her finger—still white with flour around the knuckle—pointing to a small, unlabeled gray square on the edge of the map, miles away from the water. "That’s the old cold-storage facility on Route 9. It’s been empty since the nineties. But if you want to move trucks into the city without the state police seeing them from the toll booths, you park them there and transfer the crates to local bread vans."
Dominic stared at the tiny square on the map. His mind, trained for decades in the logistics of illegal trade, instantly connected the dots. The cold-storage facility had a private rail spur that connected directly to the North Pier lines. If Carmine had Silvio killed at sea, he wasn't trying to stop the ships; he was trying to divert the cargo before it ever hit the customs docks.
"Tony," Dominic said, his voice suddenly sharp, the old energy returning to his eyes like a current through a dead wire. "Who owns the title on the Route 9 facility?"
Tony blinked, pulling out a small notebook. "Uh... it’s held by an LLC called 'Vanguard Logistics.' It’s a front company for the old Marcone family."
"And who bought out the Marcone assets when they went under five years ago?" Dominic asked, a cold smile appearing on his face.
"Carmine," Tony whispered, his eyes widening. "He’s been setting this up since before you were shot, Boss. He didn't just capitalize on your injury—he planned the whole thing."
"He wanted the spine," Dominic said softly, his fingers brushing his own thighs beneath the desk. "He knew if he took my legs, I wouldn't be able to visit the outer hubs. I’d be trapped in the city, focusing on the immediate perimeter while he built a new terminal right under my nose."
He looked up at Nora. Truly looked at her.
She was standing there in his oversized white shirt, her face smudged with soot from the kitchen woodstove, looking at him with an expression that said I told you so.
"You're a very smart woman, Nora Hayes," Dominic said.
"I'm not smart, Russo," she said, turning toward the door. "I just pay attention to where the flour trucks go. If you want to beat a guy like Carmine, stop looking at the gold leaf on his cake. Look at where he buys his butter."
She stepped out of the room, leaving the smell of warm bread behind her.
Dominic looked at Tony. "Call Marcus. Tell him to get the long rifles out of the basement. We aren't going to wait for Carmine to come to the Heights."
"Boss?" Tony looked startled. "You're in a chair. We have four men. You want to raid a fortified distribution hub?"
"No," Dominic said, pulling the snub-nosed .38 from his pocket and setting it firmly on top of the map of Route 9. "We aren't going to raid it. We’re going to burn it to the ground. And we’re going to make sure Carmine is inside when the roof falls."
May you like
He reached for the warm brioche, tore off a piece with his large hands, and chewed it thoughtfully.
"Tell Nora to make another batch," the boss said, his voice dropping into the dark. "It’s going to be a very busy night."
