Chapter 8 - A Token of Gratitude
Vincent sat in his dimly lit office, the heavy mahogany desk covered in shipping manifests and territory disputes. The air was thick with cigar smoke and tension. His underboss, Sal, was mid-sentence, complaining about a rival faction encroaching on their docks, when a soft knock interrupted them.
Marco entered, his usual stone-faced expression softening just a fraction. He walked past Sal, ignoring the underboss's irritated glare, and placed a folded piece of construction paper on Vincent’s desk.
"From the girl, boss," Marco said quietly. "She asked me to give it to the man in the nice suit."
Vincent paused. He carefully unfolded the paper. It was a crayon drawing of a large, dark car, a woman, a little girl, and a tall man in a blue suit with a very stern, straight line for a mouth. Above the figures, in clumsy, oversized letters, it read: Thank You, Mr. Vincent.
May you like
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of Vincent’s lips. He carefully slid the drawing into the top drawer of his desk, safely away from the grime of his daily business.
"Right," Vincent said, looking back up at Sal, his voice returning to cold gravel. "Let's talk about the docks."
