Chapter 2 - The Red Door Sealed
The heavy click of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the silent dining room of Romano’s. The three men in expensive coats didn't flinch, but their eyes darted to the exits. The blond man, whose posture remained infuriatingly rigid, tilted his head slightly.
"You're making a tactical error, Caruso," the blond man said, his voice smooth despite the weapons pointed at his chest. "I am Agent Miller. The people I represent don't exist on police blotters, and they don't negotiate with local syndicates. The child’s father, Hector Martinez, didn't just lose his wife—he lost a digital ledger that contains thirty years of federal asset allocation records. If that backpack leaves this room, the fallout will reach the capital before dawn."
Vincent didn't look at the backpack. He kept his gaze locked on Miller. "You talked about her father being worried sick. Now you say he watched his wife get murdered. Which lie are we sticking to for the rest of the night, Agent?"
Sophia’s small hands clutched the fabric of Vincent’s trousers. Her soaked sneakers left dark pools on the polished wood.
Marco, holding the pink bag, stepped closer to Vincent, lowering his voice. "Boss, the documents... they aren't just street level. There are authorization stamps from the Governor's private estate. If Miller’s people are who they say they are, we aren't just looking at a hit squad. We're looking at a clean-up crew."
"I don't care if they're the Swiss Guard," Vincent said, his voice low and vibrating with a dangerous finality. "Marco, take the girl to the upper office. Lock her in the safe room."
"No!" Sophia cried, her small voice cracking as she tightened her grip on Vincent. "Don't let them take me! You have the kind eyes. Mama promised!"
Vincent paused. The word kind felt like a brand against his skin. He reached down, his massive, scarred hand gently covering her small, trembling fingers. "Nobody is taking you, Sophia. Go with Marco. He's going to give you dry clothes and a hot drink. I'll be up in five minutes."
Sophia looked into his eyes, searching for the truth. Whatever she saw in the hardened criminal's expression satisfied her. She slowly let go of his jacket and allowed Marco to lead her toward the back stairs, the pink backpack clutched tightly under Marco's arm.
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Miller took half a step forward, his hand drifting inside his coat.
Vincent drew his (.45 caliber) pistol in a single, fluid motion that defied his size. The barrel pointed directly between Miller’s eyes. "Take your hand out of your coat, clean, or your friends will be scraping your brains off my velvet wallpaper."
