As Rocco left Sarah and Emma’s house that night, his phone buzzed with a message from Tony confirming the groceries had been delivered.
But Rocco’s mind was already several steps ahead.
Men like Vincent always had informants, always had eyes watching. By morning he would know that Rocco Moretti had personally visited one of his victims.
Rocco drove through rain-soaked streets, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
For 30 years he had built his organization—30 years of careful rules and clear lines that his men knew never to cross.
Vincent had shattered those lines for what? A few thousand stolen from families who barely had enough to survive.
His phone rang.
The name on the screen made his blood pressure rise even higher.
Vincent Caruso.
“Boss,” Vincent said casually. Too casually. “Heard you were in my neighborhood tonight. Everything all right?”
Rocco kept his voice level.
“Just checking on some business, Vincent. Nothing that concerns you.”
“Of course not, boss. Just making sure nobody was causing problems in my territory. You know how protective I get about the families under my watch.”
The audacity nearly made Rocco laugh.
Vincent was bragging about protecting the same families he had been destroying.
“Speaking of families,” Rocco said slowly. “I met an interesting woman tonight. Sarah Thompson. Name ring any bells?”
The silence on the other end lasted just long enough to confirm everything.
“Thompson,” Vincent finally said. “Doesn’t sound familiar, boss. Should it?”
“Her husband Marcus apparently owed us money before he died. $15,000 plus interest. You handled the collection personally.”
“Oh… right. Yeah. That Thompson. Sad case. Husband left her with a mountain of debt. Had to recover what we could.”
Rocco pulled into the parking garage beneath his office building.
“Vincent, I need you to meet me tonight. Bring the paperwork on the Thompson account.”
“Tonight? Boss, it’s almost midnight.”
“Tonight.”
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