Chapter 5 - The Frame Job
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"Who did it?" Vincent demanded, his voice a low, lethal hum.
"Carmine says it was us," Paulie replied, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. "He says his men saw a black SUV with New York plates speed away. He’s calling for a sit-down tonight. He wants blood, Vince."
"It's a setup," Vincent stated instantly. "We didn't touch her. Carmine wants a war, and he needed a reason to start it. He hit his own wife to blame me."
Nora gasped softly from the doorway. She had spent the last three weeks watching Vincent care for his mother with immense tenderness. The idea that men existed who would hurt their own wives to start a war was horrifying to her.
"What do we do?" Paulie asked.
"We go to the sit-down," Vincent said, already buttoning his suit jacket. "If I don't show, it's an admission of guilt. Gather the men. Heavy tactical. We meet Carmine at the warehouse on Pier 40 at midnight."
Paulie nodded and hurried out.
Vincent turned to Nora. She looked terrified, but she stood her ground.
"You need to stay here tonight," Vincent told her. "Do not leave the estate. If things go wrong at the pier, the city will not be safe. The compound is fortified."
"Vincent," Nora said, using his first name for the first time. "Be careful."
He paused at the door. He looked back at her, standing in her faded jeans and green sweater, a stark contrast to the violence he was about to step into.
"Lock the doors to the east wing," Vincent ordered gently. "I will be back by dawn."
The warehouse on Pier 40 was vast, smelling of saltwater and rusted metal. It was a neutral ground, but neutrality meant nothing when tensions were this high.
Vincent arrived with twenty heavily armed men. They stood in the shadows, their weapons ready.
Carmine Gallow arrived ten minutes later. He stepped out of a black armored sedan, flanked by Chicago soldiers. Carmine was an older man, heavily built, his face a mask of grief and fury. But Vincent knew how to read men. He saw the cold calculation beneath the outrage.
They met in the center of the empty warehouse floor.
"You crossed the line, Russo," Carmine spat, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "You targeted my wife. Beatrice is fighting for her life."
"I didn't touch her, Carmine," Vincent said smoothly. "If I wanted to send a message, I wouldn't use a hit-and-run on a woman. I would have come for you."
Carmine’s eyes narrowed. "I have witnesses. They saw your men."
"They saw what you paid them to see," Vincent countered. "You want the New Jersey shipping routes. You knew I wouldn't give them up, so you orchestrated an attack on your own wife to force a war. It's a bold move, Carmine. Despicable, but bold."
"You lying bastard," Carmine roared, his hand moving toward his jacket.
Instantly, forty guns were drawn. The sound of weapons chambering echoed like firecrackers.
Vincent didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked on Carmine.
"We can start shooting, Carmine," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "But you and I both know neither of us will walk out of here alive. Or, we can find out the truth. Give me forty-eight hours. I will find the men who hit Beatrice. I will prove they weren't mine."
Carmine glared at him, weighing the odds. A full-scale war in New York was risky. If he died, the territory didn't matter.
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"Forty-eight hours," Carmine agreed tightly. "If you don't hand over the men who did it, I burn your entire empire to the ground. And I start with that estate in Brookline."
Vincent's jaw clenched. Carmine had just threatened his mother. And Nora.
