Chapter 8 - The Interrogation of Vincent Vance
The following morning at dawn, the winter sun broke over Lake Michigan in a brilliant, blinding sheet of sapphire and gold.
Inside the private library annex in the north wing, the scent of fresh coffee, sliced oranges, and warm cinnamon rolls filled the room.
Frank stood beside the mahogany desk in an immaculate new tailored charcoal suit, holding a clipboard containing the morning maritime logistics reports.
When Christian walked into the library carrying Maya on his shoulders, Frank snapped to attention, bowing his head with deep, genuine respect.
“Morning, Don Christian. Morning, Little Bear.”
Maya giggled from her perch on Christian’s shoulders, waving her small hand enthusiastically. “Good morning, Uncle Frank! Did you bring the sweet rolls?”
“Two dozen fresh from the bakery in Little Italy, Little Bear,” Frank grinned, his scarred face creasing in a wide, affectionate smile that completely erased his reputation as a feared enforcer. “With extra sugar icing on top, just like you ordered.”
Christian set Maya gently down onto the parquet floor, kissing the crown of her head.
My daughter ran straight to her small wooden play table, climbing onto her velvet chair, picking up her miniature porcelain teacup with immense, serious pride.
Christian walked over to the desk, leaning against the mahogany wood, looking at Frank with sharp, calculating eyes.
“Report, Frank.”
“The Vincent Vance transfer is one hundred percent complete, boss,” Frank reported crisply. “All thirty-eight container berths at Pier 14 are operating under our flag. The union dockworkers signed the new wage contracts this morning—full pension protections, thirty-five percent wage increase, and complete health coverage funded by the Maya Silva Foundation.”
“And the federal indictments?” Christian asked softly.
Frank’s smile turned sharp and cold. “Marcus Vance filed the unredacted murder-for-hire charges at nine o'clock. Vincent’s bail was denied without argument. The judge stated that with the video and ballistics evidence, Vincent will spend the rest of his life in ADX Florence. Julian’s plea bargain was rejected. They are finished, boss.”
Christian nodded once with absolute, final satisfaction.
“Good work, Frank.”
He reached into his pocket and tossed a set of brass keys onto the desk blotter.
“What's this, boss?”
“The deed to the waterfront villa in Evanston,” Christian said smoothly. “For the man who had the good sense to lower his rifle on the catwalk fourteen afternoons in a row instead of disturbing a three-year-old child.”
Frank blinked, a sudden rush of emotional gratitude turning his rough throat tight. He picked up the keys with trembling fingers, bowing his head deeply.
“Thank you, Don Christian. I will guard Donna Elena and the Little Bear with my life.”
May you like
“I know you will, Frank,” Christian smiled, clapping the enforcer’s shoulder with heavy, brotherly warmth. “Now go get yourself a cinnamon roll before Maya finishes the plate.”
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