Chapter 4 - Strawberry Ice Cream and Whispers
By 1:00 PM, Family Day concluded with a round of juice boxes and graham crackers. Sophia skipped out of the preschool gates, her hand firmly locked in Aleandro’s, chattering happily about how she had shared her graham cracker with a boy named Leo.
Waiting for them at the curb was the black SUV. Marco was standing by the rear door, holding it open with a polite, professional smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Everything go smoothly, Boss?" Marco asked smoothly, scanning the street.
"Flawlessly," Aleandro replied, lifting Sophia into her booster seat in the back. "Next stop: Mario’s Gelateria on Bleecker Street. Strawberry ice cream."
Marco’s smile tightened slightly. "Actually, Boss, we have a slight change in the itinerary. A shipment from the Port of Newark just arrived unexpectedly. The dock master is refusing to sign off without your direct signature. It will take ten minutes. We can swing by the warehouse on 4th Street on our way to the ice cream shop."
Aleandro paused, his hand resting on the car door. He looked at Marco. For ten years, Marco had never interrupted a scheduled personal day for routine harbor paperwork. Marco knew the rules: family and personal time were absolute.
"Can it wait until tomorrow, Marco?" Aleandro asked, his voice narrowing slightly.
"The federal inspectors are auditing the manifests at dawn, Boss," Marco lied smoothly, meeting Aleandro’s gaze without flinching. "If we don't sign off today, the entire shipment gets impounded, costing us two million dollars."
In the back seat, Sophia’s face fell. Her lower lip quivered. "You promised strawberry ice cream," she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. "You said we'd go to the park and get ice cream."
Aleandro looked from Marco’s tense face to Sophia’s heartbroken eyes.
"Ice cream first, Marco," Aleandro commanded, his voice dropping into its cold, authoritative register. "The docks can wait twenty minutes."
Marco’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. For a microsecond, a flash of pure, unadulterated fury crossed Marco’s face before he quickly masked it with a submissive nod.
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"As you wish, Boss. Mario’s Gelateria it is."
As Marco walked around to the driver's side, he pulled out his burner phone and tapped out a rapid message: Plan changed. Intercept them at Mario’s Gelateria. Make it look like a botched hit from the Queens syndicate.
