Chapter 9 - The Debt Collected
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Dante snapped his fingers once.
Two of his men stepped forward, stripped Brandt of his weapon, and forced him down onto his knees beside Marcus Vance.
The metal briefcase clattered against the concrete.
"Frank," Dante said without turning around.
"Open the case."
Frank stepped forward, popped the latches on the silver briefcase, and revealed rows of neatly banded bearer bonds.
"Thirty-two thousand dollars," Frank announced.
"Take it," Dante said, looking at me.
I hesitated.
"Mr. Moretti, that’s company money."
"That is the first installment of what this parasite owes you," Dante replied, his tone brooking no argument.
"Frank, have the legal team seize Brandt’s properties on 18th Street and liquidate his accounts."
"Elena will receive every dollar she was extorted, plus standard commercial interest for three years."
Brandt looked up from the floor, trembling with rage and terror.
"You can't do this, Moretti!" Brandt spat. "The Commission won't allow you to rob another boss’s earner!"
Dante crouched down in front of Brandt, just as he had crouched in front of me in his office the day before.
Only this time, there was no gentle warmth in his eyes.
There was only ice.
"I spoke to Don Lucchese an hour ago," Dante whispered.
"When I informed him that you were stealing from our joint logistics contracts and assaulting the daughters of honest craftsmen, he gave me his blessing."
"You have no family, Tony."
"You have no backing."
"You are a thief who forgot who owned the pavement you walked on."
Dante reached out, gripped Brandt’s leather lapels, and dragged him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"If you ever speak Elena Hale’s name again, if you ever look in the direction of her street, or if you ever cross the city line after today, I will personally drop you into Lake Michigan inside one of your phantom fish crates."
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Brandt choked out, tears of humiliation leaking down his cheeks. "Yes, Mr. Moretti."
"Get him out of my sight," Dante ordered, standing up.
Two guards hauled Brandt toward the back exit like a sack of discarded trash.
Marcus Vance remained on the floor, weeping and babbling apologies.
"As for you, Marcus," Dante said looking down at his former executive.
"You will sign over your shares, your severance, and your pension to the employee relief fund."
"Then you will pack your desk and be out of this state by midnight."
"Thank you, Dante... thank you," Marcus sobbed, kissing the toe of Dante’s shoe.
"Get up," Dante said in disgust. "You make me sick."
Dante turned his back on the ruined men and walked toward me.
The tension in the warehouse began to dissipate, replaced by the steady patter of rain on the metal roof.
Dante looked down at my face, searching for tears or trembling.
He found neither.
"Are you alright, Elena?" he asked softly.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the invisible weight that had crushed my lungs for three years dissolve into nothingness.
"I am better than alright," I said, a genuine smile breaking across my face for the first time in years.
"I am free."
Dante’s expression softened, a rare, genuine warmth lighting his dark eyes.
May you like
"Good," he said, offering me his arm.
"Let's go home."
