If you breathe a word, Mr. Moretti, we both die before we hit the floor.
Elena pulled the sedan into a dimly lit parking garage, the crunch of gravel under the tires the only sound. “We can’t go to any known safehouses,” she said. “They’ll be watched. Or worse, empty.”
I nodded, the anger in my gut slowly giving way to a cold, hard resolve. Salvatore had cut me off, but I still had resources. I always kept emergency cash.
“Take me to the Bank of Brooklyn, downtown branch,” I instructed. “I have a private safety deposit box there. Three hundred thousand in cash. Enough to buy some time, make some moves.”
Elena didn’t argue. She drove with a quiet efficiency, weaving through the late-night traffic until we reached the imposing glass and steel structure of the bank. The building was closed, of course, but I knew the manager, Mr. Henderson. He had an apartment upstairs, a perk of the job, and he owed me a few favors.
I called his private number. It rang several times before he answered, his voice thick with sleep. “Vincent? What’s going on?”
“I need to access my safety deposit box, Henderson. Emergency. I’ll make it worth your while.”
There was a pause, a significant silence on the other end. I heard a nervous sigh.
“Mr. Moretti,” Henderson said, his voice now crisp and formal, devoid of any past familiarity. “I… I can’t. There’s been an injunction.”
My blood ran cold. “What injunction?”
“An emergency legal injunction,” he stammered, his words rushed. “Filed this afternoon by Falcone Corporate Lawyers. It’s for all accounts associated with Moretti Logistics LLC. Personal, business, safety deposit boxes… everything.”
My grip tightened on the phone. Moretti Logistics LLC. My legitimate front, the shipping company I used to launder money and manage legitimate contracts. Salvatore had hit me where it hurt most. He wasn’t just isolating me; he was starving me out.
“Are you telling me my accounts are frozen?” I asked, my voice dangerously low.
“Yes, sir. Indefinitely. I’m truly sorry, Mr. Moretti.” Henderson cleared his throat. “I’ve been instructed not to grant access under any circumstances. My hands are tied.”
He hung up before I could respond. I lowered the phone slowly, my gaze fixed on the imposing bank building, now a fortress I couldn’t breach. Elena watched me, her expression still unreadable.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out my wallet. I had always kept a small amount of untraceable cash, an old habit from my younger days. I counted it quickly. Three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, a fifty, and a few twenties. Less than $400.
“He’s good,” I said, a bitter taste in my mouth. “Salvatore didn’t just cut off my men. He cut off my money. My entire life savings. He’s cornering me. Social isolation and total financial starvation.”
Elena said nothing, but her jaw was set. She knew the game. Salvatore wasn’t going for a quick, bloody hit. He wanted to watch me writhe, to break me, before he delivered the final blow. And he had just stripped me of every financial resource I possessed.
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