Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Upstairs in the grand ballroom, Victor Capello stood on the dais, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that mirrored the one Lorenzo had worn the night before. His face was a mask of solemn grief and hidden ambition.
“My brothers,” Victor’s voice resonated through the crystal-hung hall, carried by the state-of-the-art speakers. “Last night, our beloved Lorenzo fell to cowardice in an unsanctioned strike by unknown rivals. We mourn him deeply.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the eighty men gathered below, though many eyes shifted toward the back doors where federal agents in plainclothes stood watching with unreadable expressions under Vance’s command.
“In times of darkness,” Victor continued, raising his wine glass toward the vaulted ceiling, “the family must not break. We must consolidate. We must look to a future where our friends in high office protect our interests.”
Special Agent Marcus Vance stood near the brass pillars, nodding slightly with a glass of club soda in hand. Everything was running according to the architecture he and Victor had designed over eight bloody years.
Then the double oak doors at the back of the ballroom swung open with a resounding crack that silenced the brass quintet in the balcony. Diners froze, glasses suspended halfway to their lips in shocked surprise.
Down the center aisle walked Lorenzo Capello, his gray eyes ablaze, his black overcoat open to reveal the holster at his chest. Beside him walked Chloe Evans, Daniel’s service weapon held steady at her side.
A collective gasp sucked the air from the grand ballroom. Men scrambled backward from the tables, overturning crystal wine glasses that shattered on the plush carpets just as they had at The Sovereign twenty-four hours earlier.
Victor’s glass slipped from his fingers, burgundy wine splashing across his polished shoes like fresh arterial spray. “Enzo... you were dead. The reports said you died behind the kitchen line.”
“You always did rely on other men to do your killing, Victor,” Lorenzo’s voice cut through the stillness like a serrated razor. “Just like you paid Marcus Vance to shoot Daniel Cross in the back eight years ago.”
Vance’s hand dropped toward his armpit, but Chloe fired once, the round splintering the marble pillar two inches from his ear. “Move your hand again, Vance, and you join my brother before the feds can cuff you.”
Vance froze, his eyes widening in horror as he recognized the high cheekbones, the scar along her jaw, and the steady grip of the girl he thought he had drowned in the marsh waters of Lake Michigan.
“Evelyn Cross,” Vance whispered, the room catching the name and murmuring in bewildered panic. “You’re dead. You died eight years ago. The body was identified by dental records.”
“You identified dental records you fabricated with Victor’s money,” Deputy Director Hayes announced, stepping through the service entrance flanked by thirty tactical officers in black body armor bearing the federal seal.
“Federal agents!” Hayes barked, his voice echoing across the ballroom. “Drop your weapons! Every exit is sealed! Marcus Vance, you are under arrest for treason, conspiracy to commit murder, and racketeering!”
Vance broke. He drew his backup weapon and lunged behind a dining table, firing wildly toward the dais. Panic erupted across the ballroom as mobsters and waiters dropped to the floor beneath the hail of gunfire.
Chloe moved with the lethal precision Daniel had taught her in their youth. She vaulted over a fallen banquet table, her weapon tracking Vance through the smoke and shattered glass with cold, unwavering focus.
Vance fired twice; both rounds clipped the heavy oak table beside her shoulder. Chloe didn't flinch. She rounded the flank, caught Vance’s wrist with her left hand, and drove her elbow into his windpipe with brutal force.
He collapsed against the mahogany sideboard, gasping for air as his weapon skittered across the carpet. Chloe pressed the barrel of Daniel’s service pistol against the bridge of Vance’s nose, her hand rock steady.
“Evelyn, please,” Vance choked out, blood leaking from his split lip. “It was Victor’s idea. He offered me five million. Your brother was going to destroy the whole system. He was too righteous for this city.”
“He was an honest man,” Chloe said, her voice dropping into the quiet register of an executioner. “And you were a coward who hid behind a badge while selling the blood of your friends.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger, the metal clicking against the first stage of the hammer. Vance closed his eyes, trembling violently as he awaited the retribution that had pursued him across eight long years.
“Chloe!” Lorenzo’s voice reached her across the chaos. She paused, her breathing slowing as she saw him standing over Victor on the dais, his gun pointed down at his former friend’s chest.
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“Don’t do it,” Lorenzo said, his eyes meeting hers through the drifting gunpowder haze. “Let Hayes have him. Let him rot in ADX Florence where every cop and criminal knows he was a rat who sold both sides.”
—END OF Chapter 7,
