Chapter 4 - The Betrayal Unveiled
While Vincent comforted Elena in the quiet sanctuary of the medical suite, Dominic Hale stood in the high-tech command center downstairs, reviewing encrypted surveillance feeds alongside three of their most trusted intelligence operatives. On the massive dual monitors before him, digital transcripts of police precinct logs and coroner reports from seven months ago scrolled endlessly across the screen. “Boss,” Dominic called out as Vincent walked into the command center, leaving Elena resting under the care of Dr. Salvatore. “We dug into the traffic camera footage from the night of the FDR crash, just like you asked. Look at this.” Dominic tapped a keyboard, bringing up a high-definition playback of a dark towing yard in Queens dated seven months prior. The video showed a disgraced municipal detective named Marcus Cole—a known dirty cop on Carmine Vitale’s payroll—supervised by two Vitale enforcers as they dragged an unidentified deceased female body into a stolen silver sedan, doused the interior with gasoline, and pushed it over the highway retaining wall before setting it ablaze. “Cole,” Vincent growled, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. “He traded a dead soul for a living one, giving Carmine the ultimate psychological weapon against me.” “Detective Cole still operates out of the Midtown precinct on a cushy desk assignment,” Dominic noted coldly, pulling up the officer’s current schedule. “Do we want a clean execution, or should we bring him in for a little chat in the basement?” Vincent’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure, calculated fury. “Bring him in. Alive. I want him to look me in the eye and tell me every single name of the bastards who helped him bury my wife alive.” Within forty-five minutes, the command center doors swung open as two towering enforcers dragged a kicking, screaming Marcus Cole down the concrete steps, throwing him facedown onto the metal grate floor of the basement interrogation room. Cole looked up, recognizing Vincent Rossi standing over him like an angel of death. The dirty cop’s face turned the color of curdled milk. “Mr... Mr. Rossi! I swear I didn't know she was carrying your kid! Carmine made me do it!” Cole shrieked, pressing himself back against the concrete pillar. Vincent slowly crouched down beside him, his face an impassive mask of lethal calm. “Marcus,” Vincent whispered softly. “You gave me a funeral for a woman who was still breathing. You made me bury an empty box. How should we repay a debt like that?”
