Chapter 3 - The Rat in the Shadow
The rain poured in sheets over the docks of Brooklyn, washing away the stench of salt and oil.
In an abandoned fish-packing factory, tied to a rusted metal chair, sat Frankie "The Weasel" Rizzo—the DeLuca family’s chief logistics officer. His nose was broken, and his expensive Italian suit was soaked in cold rainwater.
Standing over him was not a squad of mob hitmen, but Zara Coleman, holding a thick folder of financial documents, and Ghost, whose teeth were exposed in a silent, menacing sneer.
"I swear to God, Zara, I didn't say nothing!" Frankie pleaded, his voice trembling. "Carmine's guys... they cornered my daughter! They said they’d cut her throat if I didn't give them the blueprint to the manor's security system!"
Zara pulled up a stool and sat directly in front of him. She didn't raise her fist. She didn't pull out a blade. Instead, she opened the folder and laid out several photos.
"This is your daughter, Chloe," Zara said softly, pointing to a photo of a young girl playing in a park. "She’s nine years old. She attends Saint Mary's Elementary."
Frankie sobbed, nodding frantically. "Yes! Yes, please, Zara, you used to work with kids... you understand! I had no choice!"
"I do understand," Zara said, her tone dripping with quiet heartbreak and fierce resolve. "Family is everything. It's why I'm doing this. But here’s what you don't know, Frankie. I had two of our cleanest security teams pick up Chloe two hours ago. She is currently sitting in a safehouse with Mrs. DeLuca, eating ice cream and watching cartoons. She is completely safe."
Frankie blinked through his tears, stunned. "She... she is?"
"She is," Zara affirmed. "Which means Carmine no longer has leverage over you. But I do."
She flipped the page, revealing bank statements showing massive offshore transfers from a bank in Zurich linked directly to Carmine's top lieutenant.
"You didn't do this just to save your daughter, Frankie," Zara said, her voice hardening. "You took a two-million-dollar payout. You traded Vincent's life for a retirement fund in South America."
Frankie’s face went ghastly white. He swallowed hard, looking down at Ghost, who stepped closer, his hot breath hitting Frankie's knees.
"You have ten seconds," Zara whispered. "Tell me where Carmine took Vincent, or I walk out of this room, drop his leash, and let Ghost ask the questions."
Ghost let out a sharp, ear-splitting bark that echoed off the corrugated metal walls. Frankie squeezed his eyes shut and burst into hysterical tears.
"The old iron foundry!" Frankie screamed, shaking uncontrollably. "In Port Newark! He took him to the abandoned foundry on Pier 14! Carmine has a subterranean bunker underneath it! That's where he keeps his high-value hostages! Please, don't let the dog bite me!"
Zara stood up slowly, closing the folder. She looked down at the pathetic man who had sold out the man she loved.
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"Tie him up tighter," Zara ordered the two guards standing at the door. "If he slips his bonds before we get back, shoot him in the knees."
She turned to Ghost, patting his head as the dog nudged her blood-stained hand. "Forty-eight hours left, buddy. Let's go get Jun."
