Chapter 7 - Vincent Burned Chicago Looking for HerVincent had experienced rage before.
Rage when his father died.
Rage when Isabella was murdered.
Rage when he believed Gabriel had betrayed him.
But nothing compared to seeing Chelsea disappear through the church’s side door while he was fifteen feet away.
He shot one attacker.
Marco caught another.
Gabriel chased the vehicle on foot until it vanished.
Then Vincent became something his enemies had feared for years.
Focused.
Cold.
Relentless.
Every camera was pulled.
Every tollway monitored.
Every contact awakened.
Vincent offered one million dollars for information leading to Chelsea alive.
No questions asked.
Within twenty minutes, his phone became a storm of rumors.
Marco tracked the getaway vehicle to an industrial district.
It was found abandoned.
Empty.
Vincent stood beside it under pouring rain.
Gabriel approached.
“This is what Adrian wants.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“You losing control.”
Vincent grabbed his brother’s throat.
“You brought us there.”
“And I saved her from the first bullet.”
“You led him to us!”
“No.”
Gabriel stared into his eyes.
“Someone else did.”
Marco arrived holding a device.
“Tracker.”
He showed them a small transmitter recovered beneath Vincent’s SUV.
Vincent released Gabriel.
Marco continued.
“It was installed before we left the estate.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Inside?”
“Yes.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone on your security staff is compromised.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Chelsea was somewhere with a murderer.
And the enemy had been inside his home.
Chelsea tested the rope around her wrists.
No movement.
Adrian had taken her to an old theater.
Dusty velvet curtains.
Broken seats.
A single work light illuminated the stage.
Chelsea sat tied to a chair.
Adrian arranged a camera on a tripod.
“What are you doing?”
“Making Vincent a gift.”
He positioned the camera.
“You know what’s interesting about powerful men?”
Chelsea remained silent.
“They believe suffering belongs to other people.”
Adrian pressed record.
“Vincent learned once.”
He looked at Chelsea.
“Apparently he forgot.”
Chelsea forced herself to breathe slowly.
Her mother once told her panic was imagination running ahead of reality.
Deal with what exists.
Not what might happen.
What existed?
Rope.
Chair.
Camera.
Adrian.
An exit twenty feet away.
Broken glass near her left foot.
Chelsea moved her shoe subtly.
Adrian noticed.
“Planning?”
“Trying not to pee myself.”
He laughed.
Good.
Let him underestimate her.
His phone rang.
Adrian walked away to answer it.
Chelsea hooked the glass with her heel.
Slowly.
Painfully.
She dragged it closer.
Adrian’s conversation grew heated.
“What do you mean he knows?”
Pause.
“No, Dominic. You said—”
Chelsea froze.
Dominic was alive and communicating with him.
Adrian turned away.
“My father has always been afraid of Vincent,” he said after ending the call.
“You’re not?”
“I’m afraid of no one.”
“That’s usually something frightened men say.”
His smile tightened.
Chelsea worked the glass against the rope behind her back.
Adrian approached.
“You think you’re clever.”
“I think you killed a pregnant woman because she rejected you.”
His face changed.
“She betrayed me.”
“She wasn’t yours to betray.”
He slapped Chelsea.
Her head snapped sideways.
Blood filled her mouth.
Adrian immediately looked ashamed.
Then angry that he felt ashamed.
“Don’t compare yourself to her.”
“I’m not.”
Chelsea turned back toward him.
“She was brave enough to reject you.”
His fist tightened.
Chelsea smiled through the pain.
“I am too.”
He turned away before he hit her again.
The glass sliced through one strand of rope.
Then another.
Adrian began setting up lights.
“You know what Vincent will do when he sees you die?”
“He’ll kill you.”
“He’ll try.”
“No.”
Chelsea looked at him.
“He’ll succeed.”
Adrian laughed.
Then a sound echoed somewhere beneath the stage.
Metal hitting concrete.
Adrian stopped.
Chelsea stopped too.
He drew a gun.
“Stay here.”
“As opposed to?”
He disappeared through a backstage door.
Chelsea sawed desperately.
The rope loosened.
Footsteps.
A gunshot.
Then another.
Chelsea freed one hand.
She tore the rope away.
The backstage door opened.
Chelsea grabbed the chair.
A man stepped through.
She swung.
“Chelsea!”
She stopped inches from Gabriel’s head.
He stared at the chair.
“You people really need to stop hitting rescuers.”
“Where’s Vincent?”
“Outside.”
“Adrian?”
“Still here.”
Gabriel cut her ankle restraints.
Chelsea stood.
Dizziness hit.
Gabriel caught her.
The door behind them opened.
Adrian appeared with a gun.
Gabriel shoved Chelsea aside.
The weapon fired.
Gabriel collapsed.
“Gabriel!”
Chelsea crawled toward him.
Blood spread across his shoulder.
Adrian advanced.
“You should have stayed dead.”
Chelsea grabbed the broken chair leg.
Adrian pointed the gun toward her.
Then the theater doors exploded open.
Vincent entered.
His weapon leveled.
“Drop it.”
Adrian smiled.
Chelsea had never seen hatred like the hatred in Vincent’s face.
Adrian moved the gun toward her.
Vincent fired.
The bullet struck Adrian’s arm.
His weapon fell.
Marco and two guards rushed in.
Adrian was forced to the floor.
Vincent did not even look at him.
He ran straight to Chelsea.
Her knees gave out.
Vincent caught her.
“I’ve got you.”
Chelsea clung to him.
He touched the bruise on her cheek.
Something murderous returned to his expression.
“No,” she whispered.
Vincent looked at her.
“Not for me.”
He closed his eyes.
Then pulled her against him.
“I thought—”
“I know.”
“I thought I lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
Vincent held her tighter.
Behind them, Gabriel groaned.
Chelsea pulled away.
“Your brother.”
Vincent rushed toward him.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder.
Gabriel smiled weakly.
“Apparently I’m bad at dying.”
Vincent knelt.
“You always were difficult.”
Gabriel looked surprised.
Then laughed painfully.
Police sirens approached.
Chelsea frowned.
“You called police?”
Marco nodded.
“Some problems are easier when legitimate authorities carry the paperwork.”
Chelsea smiled faintly.
Adrian was taken alive.
Before officers put him in the vehicle, he looked at Vincent.
“You still don’t understand.”
Vincent stopped.
Adrian smiled.
“My father isn’t running.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to destroy yourself.”
Then Adrian was shoved into the cruiser.
Chelsea watched Vincent.
“What did he mean?”
Nobody knew.
They would learn three hours later.
Dominic Russo had spent thirty years preparing for a single possibility.
Vincent Moretti turning against the empire his father created.
And at 4:18 that morning, federal agents raided eleven Moretti businesses simultaneously.
Dominic had delivered them evidence.
Millions in hidden accounts.
Bribery.
Fraud.
Wire transfers.
May you like
And every record carried one signature.
Vincent’s.
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