The burner phone Maria had acquired felt cold and foreign in my hand.
It was a cheap flip phone, a relic in an age of smartphones, bought with cash from a nondescript store across town.
It felt appropriately clandestine for the call I was about to make.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the quiet of Uncle Charlie’s apartment.
Maria sat opposite me, her face pale but determined.
Uncle Charlie stood by the window, a silent, watchful presence.
“Are you ready, Leo?” Maria asked, her voice hushed.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.
My hand was shaking.
“As I’ll ever be.”
I punched in the number Maria had found, Sammy Fontana’s direct line, buried deep in some obscure online forum.
It rang once, twice.
Each ring stretched into an eternity.
Then, a gruff voice answered.
“Yeah?”
It was deep, gravelly, exactly what I imagined Slick Sammy “The Shark” Fontana would sound like.
My tongue felt thick.
“Is this… Mr. Fontana?” I managed to get out, my voice cracking slightly.
A chuckle, low and chilling, echoed through the receiver.
“Depends who’s asking.”
The specific cruelty of that moment was in the immediate sense of powerlessness.
Sammy’s casual amusement, his absolute control over the conversation, made me feel like an insect under a giant’s thumb.
“My name is Leo Maxwell,” I said, forcing my voice to be stronger, clearer.
“Finn Maxwell’s brother.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, a beat of silence that felt heavier than any sound.
Then, Sammy’s voice, a little sharper this time.
“Finn, huh? And what can Finn’s little brother do for me?”
“I have some information,” I replied, choosing my words carefully, just as Uncle Charlie had coached me.
“Information regarding Finn’s… business arrangements. Information that I believe you would find… relevant.”
Another pause.
This one felt longer, more calculating.
I could almost hear the gears turning in Sammy’s head, weighing the risk versus the potential reward of this unexpected call.
“Relevant,” Sammy repeated, his voice laced with amusement.
“That’s a big word for a kid. What kind of relevant information are we talking about?”
“It’s about his debts,” I stated, my courage hardening with each word.
“And how he’s been handling them. Or, more accurately, how he hasn’t. And some… other matters, involving collateral. And family history.”
I made sure to drop “family history,” a direct nod to Grandfather’s letter, a subtle signal that I knew more than he might expect.
The amusement in Sammy’s voice vanished.
“Family history, you say?” His tone was now flat, devoid of emotion, more dangerous than his earlier chuckles.
“This sounds like something that needs a face-to-face. Where are you, kid?”
“I’d prefer to meet you at your office,” I countered, surprising myself with my own audacity.
“Alone. Tomorrow evening, after closing.”
Maria’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear in them.
Uncle Charlie, however, gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
Another long silence.
The tension in the room was suffocating.
I could feel Sammy weighing the options, assessing my confidence, my perceived threat.
“Alright, Leo Maxwell,” Sammy finally said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling purr.
“Tomorrow evening. Eight o’clock. My office. And come alone. Understood?”
“Understood,” I replied, my voice steadier than I expected.
Sammy chuckled again, but this time it was colder, sharper, like the scraping of a shark’s teeth.
“Don’t be late, kid.”
Then, he hung up.
The line went dead.
I slowly lowered the phone, my hand still trembling, my knuckles white.
I had done it.
I had stepped into the shark’s den, utterly alone.
Maria stared at me, her face pale.
“You actually did it,” she whispered.
Uncle Charlie walked over, placing a hand on my shoulder.
His grip was firm, grounding.
“The dance begins,” he said softly.
But all I could hear was Sammy’s low, chilling chuckle, echoing in my ears, a terrifying prelude to the confrontation that awaited me.
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