Chapter 6 - The Shadows of BostonThree hundred miles south, in a minimalist, glass-walled penthouse overlooking Boston Harbor, a man named Marcus Vance—Arthur’s older brother and the eastern seaboard director for the Syndicate—crushed a crystal highball glass in his bare hand.
The amber liquor and jagged shards of glass spilled across the imported Italian marble tabletop, staining the white surface like fresh blood.
"Arthur is singing," the man standing in the shadows said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, like an automated dispatch. "The state police took him before our people could reach the precinct. The federal task force has already seized the shipping manifests from the Port Haven terminal."
Marcus Vance didn't look back at his operative. He stared out at the gray expanse of the harbor where three container ships sat at anchor, waiting for clearance that would never come.
"Roman Bellamy thinks he's won," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a low, venomous hiss. "He thinks because he cleaned out a corrupt commissioner, he’s safe behind his little Maine coastlines."
"What do our orders say?" the operative asked, stepping one pace out of the shadows, revealing a face marked by an old shrapnel scar running from his temple to his jaw.
Marcus turned around. His eyes were cold, dead, and entirely empty of humanity.
"Tell the strike team in Bangor to stand down on the direct approach," Marcus ordered, pulling a silver gold-plated lighter from his vest pocket and snapping the lid open and shut with a sharp clack. "If Roman wants to play domestic family man with a dead woman's child... we'll give him a family reunion he'll never forget."
May you like
He flicked the lighter. A small blue flame danced in the dim penthouse.
"Find the girl," Marcus whispered. "Bring her to me. Let's see how well Roman protects his empire when there's nothing left of his blood to bury."
