Chapter 2 - The Syndicate Boss Makes a Midnight Call
The black sedan cut through the wet asphalt of the city streets as Dominic drove back toward the estate with a cold fire burning behind his ribs. For ten years, Dominic Gallo had built an unassailable fortress of cash, muscle, and absolute ruthlessness. Sentimentality was a luxury that got men killed in his line of work. Yet, as he parked the sedan in the dark recesses of his garage and stepped out into the damp chill, the image of little Keo’s pale, translucent skin lingered in his mind like a ghost. He walked through the side entrance of the mansion, ignoring his guards who stood at attention near the grand staircase. He climbed directly to his private study, locked the heavy mahogany door behind him, and poured himself a triple measure of neat bourbon. He did not drink it. Instead, he stared at the amber liquid, watching the single large ice cube slowly dissolve. Eighty thousand dollars. To Dominic Gallo, eighty thousand dollars was what he spent on a mediocre weekend poker game or a single imported Italian rug for the foyer. To a woman scrubbing the floors of his manor, it was an insurmountable wall between life and death for her only child. Dominic picked up his secure satellite phone and dialed a private, encrypted number. It rang twice before a gravelly, cautious voice answered on the other end. “Gallo. It’s late. Everything stable at the docks?” “Forget the docks, Marcus,” Dominic’s voice cut through the line like a razor. “I need a file pulled immediately. Clean, no digital footprint. I want the complete financial audit, medical history, and personnel file of our domestic staff. Specifically, the woman named Linda.” A brief pause crackled across the secure channel. Marcus, his fiercely loyal chief accountant and logistics coordinator, sounded perplexed. “Linda? The quiet girl who handles the east wing? Boss, she cleared background checks twice. Clean record, no police jackets, no ties to rival families. Her husband died in a construction accident three years ago, left her with nothing. Why the sudden interest? Did she lift something from the safe?” “She didn’t lift a damn thing,” Dominic replied sharply, swirling the bourbon. “She’s drowning, Marcus. And I want to know every single rock resting on her shoulders.” “Understood. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll patch the hard copies to your private terminal downstairs.” Dominic hung up without another word. He walked back to the window, staring out over the sprawling iron gates of his estate. In his world, power was measured by how much leverage you held over others. For the first time in his career, Dominic realized he possessed absolute leverage over a situation not to extract obedience or punishment, but to rewrite a tragedy. Twenty minutes later, a soft chime signaled an encrypted transmission on his private terminal. Dominic sat behind his massive oak desk, unlocked the drive with a biometric scan, and began reading. The file was thin, agonizingly thin. Linda Vance—maiden name Miller. Born in the working-class district of South Side. Graduated high school with honors, enrolled in community college before her father fell ill with respiratory failure, forcing her to drop out to pay his medical debts. Her husband, Thomas Vance, was crushed by a faulty crane on a municipal construction site four years ago. The city settled out of court for a pittance, most of which vanished into legal fees and burial costs. Then, six months ago, little Keo was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. The medical bills piled up like avalanche debris. To keep her son alive, she had sold her car, hounded her relatives who had nothing to give, and finally took a low-paying, live-in domestic position at the Gallo estate, hiding her exhaustion behind a severe hairstyle and silent obedience. Dominic scrolled to the very bottom of the report where Marcus had attached a note from a confidential medical informant: St. Jude’s County General. Pediatric Oncology Ward. Experimental protocol 4-B. Total cost for full enrollment and trial continuation: $80,000 cash, due before Friday morning. Dominic closed the laptop. The glowing apple logo faded into darkness. He looked at his diamond-encrusted Rolex. It was 11:45 p.m. He had less than thirty-six hours before the hospital closed the door on Keo’s last remaining chance at survival. A normal employer would have given her a bonus, maybe a thousand bucks, patted themselves on the back, and gone to sleep. But Dominic Gallo was not a normal employer. He was a kingpin who operated by his own code. And right now, his code demanded action. He picked up his phone once more, dialing a number that made even hardened syndicate capos sweat. “Vinnie,” Dominic said the moment the line connected, his tone dangerously calm. “Get the crew together. We’re making a detour tomorrow morning, and I’m going to personally invest in a pharmaceutical company’s clinical trial.”
