Chapter 4 - The Diner on the Edge
The neon sign of the Highway 9 Diner flickered through the heavy Westchester fog, casting a sickly pink and blue glow across the slick asphalt parking lot. It was nearly 4:00 AM. Only two vehicles were parked outside: an old rusted pickup truck belonging to the overnight cook, and a white commercial van marked with the logo of Vance Heating & Cooling.
Adrien parked his sedan around the dark corner of an abandoned gas station fifty yards down the road. He stepped out into the damp night air, his long dark coat swallowing his frame as he crossed the street silently, avoiding the pools of yellow light cast by the streetlamps.
He approached the driver’s side of the service van. Through the rain-streaked, tinted glass, he could see the silhouette of a man sitting in the captain’s chair. A small glowing laptop screen cast an eerie blue light onto Marcus Vance’s face. Vance was wearing large radio headphones, his fingers hovering over a digital sound mixing board displayed on his screen.
He was listening. He was actively fine-tuning the distress signal targeting the Moretti nursery.
Adrien didn't knock. He pulled a heavy steel glass-breaker from his pocket, slammed it against the corner of the driver’s side window, and reached inside before the shattered glass even hit the pavement.
With explosive speed, Adrien grabbed Vance by his shirt collar and dragged him halfway out through the shattered window frame, slamming his head brutally against the metal door.
Vance screamed in terror, his headphones ripping off his head as his laptop tumbled onto the floorboards.
“What the hell—!” Vance gasped, sputtering blood as he tried to claw at Adrien’s iron grip.
Adrien unlocked the van door from the inside, yanked it open, and threw Vance onto the wet asphalt. Before the technician could scramble away, Adrien planted his heavy leather boot directly onto Vance’s chest, pressing down until the smaller man’s ribs creaked under the immense pressure.
“Hello, Marcus,” Adrien said smoothly, stepping close so the neon light illuminated his razor-sharp jawline and cold, dark eyes.
Vance gasped for air, his eyes wide with recognition and sheer panic. “Moretti—please! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I was just doing a diagnostic check!”
Adrien reached down, grabbed Vance by the front of his jacket, and lifted him off the ground with one hand, slamming him against the side of the van. With his free hand, Adrien pulled the black circuit chip from his coat pocket and held it an inch from Vance’s eyes.
“Do you recognize this?” Adrien asked softly. “Because my two-year-old daughter found it inside her toy tonight. The same toy that sat three feet from where you serviced the laundry room vents on Wednesday.”
Vance’s face drained of all color. He began trembling violently. “I was just paid to plant it! I swear! I didn’t know what it did! They told me it was just an audio wiretap for business secrets! They said no one would get hurt!”
“Who is 'they'?” Adrien demanded, his grip tightening around Vance’s throat until the man’s breath turned into a wheeze.
“I don’t know their real names!” Vance choked out, tears mixing with the blood on his cheeks. “I received an encrypted email through an anonymous board! The money came from a Swiss account!”
Adrien pulled his pistol from beneath his coat, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Vance’s forehead.
“You have five seconds to give me a name, Marcus,” Adrien whispered, his tone so devoid of emotion it sent a wave of absolute horror through the technician. “Five. Four—”
“VALENTI!” Vance shrieked, closing his eyes tightly. “The email signature! It was routed through a server tagged Valenti Logistics in Brooklyn! That’s all I know! I swear to God, that’s all I know!”
Adrien’s eye twitched slightly.
Dominic Valenti.
The Valenti crime family held the southern docks in Brooklyn. For years, Dominic Valenti had tried to push his territory north into Westchester and Connecticut, but Adrien’s late father had beaten them back in a brutal war twenty years ago. When Claire died eight months ago, Valenti had sent flowers to the funeral—a fake gesture of peace that Adrien had thrown straight into the trash.
It seemed Dominic Valenti thought the widowed Don was finally vulnerable enough to strike.
“Did Valenti give you a contact number to report to once the frequency broke us?” Adrien asked, pulling the gun back an inch.
“Yes!” Vance sobbed, reaching into his pocket with trembling hands and pulling out a disposable burner phone. “I’m supposed to text him a code word at 6:00 AM to confirm the signal is still active!”
Adrien took the burner phone, staring at the screen. A dark, calculated plan instantly formed in his mind.
“You’re going to text him,” Adrien said quietly, pulling Vance up by his collar. “And then you and I are going to take a little drive down to Brooklyn to deliver a personal message from my family.”
Adrien dragged Vance toward the back of the service van, threw him into the dark cargo hold, and locked the doors from the outside.
May you like
He stood alone in the quiet parking lot as the rain began to fall harder. He looked up at the grey morning sky bleeding over the horizon. Dominic Valenti thought he was playing a game of subtle intimidation. He thought he was poking a sleeping lion.
He had no idea he had just unleashed a monster.
