Chapter 8 - The Fall of the King
The sun began to peek over the snow-covered peaks of the Appalachian Mountains, casting a warm golden light through the broken roof of the train depot.
Marcus Vance was on his knees in the snow, weeping hysterically, while Rocco’s men secured him in heavy plastic zipties. All of Gino’s financial ledgers, illegal contracts, and extortion files were loaded into the back of Rocco’s secure transport.
Gino stood pressed against the side of his SUV, guarded by Captain Miller. The old mob boss looked smaller now, stripped of his guards and his terrifying aura, looking like nothing more than a bitter, desperate old man.
"What are you going to do to me, Rocco?" Gino spat, blood dripping from his lip where he had bitten it in rage. "Shoot me in the back like a dog? Throw me in the river? You don't have the stomach for it. You're too soft!"
Rocco handed the blue ledger to his top lieutenant, a broad-shouldered man named Dominick who had driven all night from Boston.
"I'm not going to shoot you, Gino," Rocco said quietly, looking his uncle straight in the eye. "Killing you would be easy. It would be a mercy."
Gino frowned, a sudden flicker of deep unease touching his face. "What are you talking about?"
"Federal Agent Miller is waiting at the bottom of the hill," Rocco said, pointing toward the main road where three dark sedans with government plates were pulling up. "Three hours ago, I handed the Department of Justice thirty years of encrypted Castellano financial records. I turned over every offshore account, every bribe, every murder contract you ever signed."
Gino’s eyes widened in sheer, unimaginable horror. "You... you gave them the master books?! You destroyed the family?!"
"I destroyed your syndicate, Gino," Rocco corrected flatly. "The legitimate assets—the shipping lines, the housing trusts, the dockworkers' funds—have been transferred into a independent workers' cooperative. The rest goes to the federal government."
Gino stumbled, collapsing onto his knees in the snow. "You ruined everything! Thirty years of work! Gone! For what?!"
Rocco looked down at him, his dark eyes filled with a profound, quiet peace.
"For a slice of warm bread," Rocco said softly.
Two Federal Marshals stepped into the depot, displaying their badges, and pulled Gino to his feet, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists. Gino screamed curses at Rocco as he was dragged toward the waiting government sedans, his voice fading into the freezing morning air until there was only silence.
Dominick walked up to Rocco, offering him a leather coat and a satellite phone. "The city is clean, Boss. The Castellano empire is officially dissolved. You're a free man. Where do you want us to take you?"
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Rocco looked down the mountain ridge toward Cedar Hollow. The smoke from the bakery chimney was already rising into the crisp morning sky, a delicate ribbon of gray against the blue heavens.
"Nowhere," Rocco said, turning his back on his men, his past, and his former empire. "I'm already home."
