Chapter 9 - The Reckoning in the Dark
We arrived back at the Long Island mansion at 4:00 PM on Friday afternoon.
The police vehicles were gone, but two marked security cars sat at the entrance of the driveway. Frankie Corsetti met us at the side entrance near the garage, his face grim as he looked at Jimmy Vane, who was gagged and handcuffed between Carmine and Lorenzo.
“How are the girls?” I asked immediately.
“They’re good, Boss,” Frankie said, his voice softening slightly. “Grace took them to the garden this morning. Olivia helped plant some tulip bulbs near the patio. They ate lunch, talked about school next fall. They’re fine.”
“Good.”
I led the men down into the basement, past the wine racks, to the iron door of the old coal bunker.
The cellar was dead quiet.
I unlatched the heavy brass wheel lock and pulled the iron door open three inches.
The damp, cold air of the bunker rushed out, smelling of sweat and dirt. From the darkness within came a weak, raspy groan.
“Dom?” Pauly’s voice sounded hollow, broken by twenty-four hours of dark isolation and a shattered wrist. “Dom… is that you?”
I didn't answer. I motioned to Carmine, who shivered as he shoved Jimmy Vane forward into the pale light spill from the open doorway.
“Tell him who you are, Jimmy,” I commanded.
Jimmy swallowed hard, his voice shaking so badly he could barely speak. “It’s… it’s Jimmy, Pauly. Jimmy Vane.”
A sudden, sharp gasp came from the dark corner of the bunker.
“He told them everything, Pauly,” I said softly, staring into the black interior. “He told them about the fifty grand. He told them about the Newark accounts. He told them about Garden City.”
“Dom… please…” Pauly wept from the dark. “Don't leave me in here… I’m your family…”
“Family doesn't murder mothers,” I said. “Family doesn't terrify children.”
I turned to Frankie. “Call District Attorney Vance. Tell him I have the two men responsible for the Garden City homicide sitting in my cellar, along with full signed confessions and the bank trail. Tell him to bring three cars and a transport van.”
Frankie nodded firmly. “Right away, Boss.”
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Pauly began to scream—a loud, desperate shriek that echoed against the iron walls as he realized he wasn't getting a mob execution in the dark; he was getting twenty-five years in a maximum-security state prison where every inmate would know he was a child-frightener and a family traitor.
I closed the iron door, spun the brass wheel lock tight, and walked back up the stone stairs into the light.
