Chapter 9 - Whispers in the Syndicate
Not everyone in the organization understood Vincent's charitable act. In the criminal underworld, kindness was often mistaken for weakness. A few weeks later, over a late-night poker game in the back room of Il Sogno, the whispers grew louder.
"I don't get it," muttered Frankie, one of the street captains. "The boss clears a debt, sets them up in a prime piece of real estate, and for what? She's not a relative. She's nobody."
Sal, shuffling the cards, shot Frankie a warning look. "You'd do well to keep your mouth shut, Frankie. The boss does what he wants."
"I'm just saying," Frankie pressed, lowering his voice. "People are talking. Russo's crew is still sore about how he embarrassed those debt collectors. It makes us look soft."
May you like
From the shadows of the doorway, a heavy silence fell over the room. Vincent stepped into the light, buttoning his suit jacket. The men at the table froze, the blood draining from Frankie's face.
"Frankie," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "If you ever question my business, or my strength, in this city again, you won't be sitting at this table. My compassion for a child does not diminish my capacity for violence. Do not test me."
