Chapter 2 - The Boy in the Wheelchair
The rain had not let up by two in the morning when the black armored Maybach crossed the Queensboro Bridge.
The city below looked bleak and greasy beneath the yellow sodium streetlights.
Marco drove with two hands firmly locked onto the wheel, his eyes scanning every intersection.
In the passenger seat sat a heavy leather briefcase containing two hundred thousand dollars in cash and three legal transfer deeds.
I sat in the back, watching the windshield wipers fight an unending battle against the storm.
Emma Carter had carried the weight of the world on her shoulders without letting anyone see the strain.
She had endured broken ribs, a fractured arm, and a shattered face just because she wore my crest on her chest.
That crest was not a decorative patch.
To anyone who carried my name or worked under my roof, that crest was supposed to be an impenetrable shield.
Kolov had torn it.
Now every stitch would have to be paid for in flesh and territory.
We pulled up in front of a decaying four-story brick walk-up on Forty-Third Avenue in Sunnyside.
The front entrance door had a broken lock that swung loosely in the wind, banging rhythmically against the rusted metal frame.
Water dripped from a sagging fire escape directly onto the front stoop.
"Third floor, apartment 3B," Marco reported, pulling a Glock 19 from beneath his armpit and racking the slide with a quiet click.
"Keep the gun out of sight," I instructed as I stepped out into the freezing deluge.
"The boy has seen enough terror in his life."
We walked through the dimly lit hallway, the smell of damp carpet, cheap cleaning bleach, and stale boiled cabbage hanging thick in the air.
At apartment 3B, a strip of yellow police tape from some long-forgotten crime was still stuck to the corner of the doorframe.
I knocked three times with my knuckles.
Silence answered.
Inside, a faint, metallic scraping sound moved across the floor, followed by the squeak of rubber wheels against linoleum.
"Emma?" a young, cracked voice called through the thin wood.
"Emma, is that you?"
"Did you lose your key again?"
I stepped closer to the peephole so he could see my face clearly.
"My name is Dominic Castellano, Toby," I said, keeping my tone even and warm.
"Your sister is safe, but she has been delayed."
"I need you to open the door."
A sharp intake of breath came from inside the apartment.
The latch rattled.
The chain was unhooked with trembling fingers, and the door creaked open four inches.
A boy with pale skin, hollow cheeks, and Emma's striking hazel eyes looked up at me from a battered manual wheelchair.
A worn woolen blanket covered his lap, concealing the limbs that no longer carried his weight.
In his right hand, he clutched a heavy rusted pipe wrench, his knuckles white with terrified adrenaline.
"Who are you?" Toby demanded, his voice cracking as he looked from my bespoke Italian coat to Marco's imposing figure behind me.
"Emma works for a Castellano."
"She said he’s an executive."
"Why are you here in the middle of the night?"
"Where is my sister?"
"Let us inside, Toby," I said softly, resting one hand against the doorframe without forcing it.
"You have my word as a gentleman that no harm will come to you in this room."
Toby stared at me for three agonizing seconds before lowering the wrench by two inches.
He rolled backward, clearing the narrow entrance.
We stepped inside.
The apartment was spotless, despite the peeling floral wallpaper and the ceiling stains that traced the leaks from the roof above.
Every piece of cheap furniture was dusted to perfection.
A small framed photograph of a smiling woman with a yellow floral headscarf sat next to an assortment of prescription pill bottles on the kitchen table.
Beside it was a neatly organized stack of red-stamped past-due notices from St. Jude’s and Queen of Peace Hospital.
Toby turned his chair around to face us, his breathing ragged.
"Did something happen to her?" he asked, tears immediately pooling in his wide eyes.
"She was supposed to be home at one-thirty."
"She never misses her check-in call."
"Not once since Mom went into the ICU."
"Emma was involved in an incident on her way from my home," I explained, choosing my words with absolute precision.
"Two men attacked her."
Toby’s face went dead white.
"The loan men," he choked out, slamming his hand against the wheel of his chair.
"It was Apex Lending, wasn't it?"
"I told her not to take their money!"
"I told her we should just let them evict us!"
I paused, my eyes narrowing slightly.
"Tell me about Apex Lending, Toby."
The boy buried his face in his hands, his narrow shoulders shaking with violent sobs.
"Six months ago, Mom’s experimental chemotherapy wasn't covered by Medicaid anymore."
"The hospital told us they would stop the infusions unless we made a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit."
"Emma was desperate."
"A man named Miller from Apex Lending showed up at the diner where she worked."
"He offered her the cash on a personal signature loan."
"We didn't know they were charging fifty percent interest every two weeks."
"She paid them back thirty thousand dollars already, but they told her she still owes sixty thousand."
"Last week, a guy with a snake on his wrist came to this door."
My blood ran colder than the rain falling outside.
"What did the man with the snake tattoo say to you, Toby?"
Toby looked up, his jaw trembling with humiliation and rage.
"He pushed my chair over, Mr. Castellano."
"He dumped me onto the floor and dumped my pills down the sink."
"He said my sister had an important boss on Fifth Avenue."
"He said if she didn't get him the security codes for your shipping warehouse in Red Hook, he was going to break her other brother's legs too."
"Emma told him she would rather die than betray the people who gave her an honest living."
"She told him you were good to her."
Toby began to weep openly, the sound scraping against the peeling walls.
"She protected you, Mr. Castellano."
"And now they've killed her, haven't they?"
I walked over to the boy and knelt before his wheelchair, ignoring the dampness of the floor.
I reached out and placed my hand firmly on his trembling shoulder.
"Your sister is alive, Toby."
"She is currently under the care of the best private trauma surgeon in this country."
"She has cracked ribs and a broken wrist, but she will walk, she will heal, and she will never work three jobs again."
Toby looked into my eyes, searching for deceit and finding none.
"You... you swear she's alive?"
"I do," I said.
"And starting tonight, Apex Lending ceases to exist."
"Marco, bring the case."
Marco stepped forward and placed the heavy leather briefcase on the kitchen table, popping the brass latches open with two loud clicks.
Toby stared in disbelief at the neat stacks of banded hundred-dollar bills filling the interior.
"This is two hundred thousand dollars," I told him.
"It will cover every outstanding bill at Queen of Peace Hospital."
"It will buy the best prosthetic therapy equipment in New York."
"And this deed," I said, tapping a thick legal document on top of the money, "is for a brownstone on Eighty-Fourth Street in Manhattan."
"It has an elevator, a private medical suite on the ground floor, and twenty-four-hour security."
"That is where you and your mother will live starting tomorrow morning."
Toby shook his head frantically, pulling back into his chair as if the money were on fire.
"No... no, we can't take this."
"Emma would never allow it."
"She says charity makes a person soft, that we only take what our hands earn."
"This is not charity, Toby," I said, my voice hardening with an authority that left no room for dispute.
"Your sister took blows meant for my family."
"She bled for the crest sewn onto her chest."
"In my world, when someone bleeds to protect the Castellano name, their family becomes my family."
"Their debts become my debts."
"And their enemies become corpses."
I stood up and nodded to Marco.
"Call the transport team from the security firm."
"Have Toby moved to the safehouse immediately."
"Then contact Dr. Vance and have Martha Carter transferred to the private oncology pavilion at Columbia Presbyterian under my personal account."
"Yes, Boss," Marco replied, pulling out his encrypted satellite phone.
Toby stared at me with wide, bewildered eyes, clutching the worn blanket over his knees.
"What are you going to do about the man with the snake tattoo, Mr. Castellano?"
I adjusted the lapels of my coat and buttoned the top button against the draft.
May you like
"I am going to pay him a visit, Toby."
"And I am going to make sure he understands what happens when you touch someone under my roof."
