Chapter 14 - Cold Retribution
The rain poured down through the open doors of the hangar, drumming a relentless, hollow rhythm against the aluminum siding.
Julian Rossi didn’t hesitate. The second he saw Vincent’s silhouette step out from behind the blinding headlights, Julian broke into a frantic sprint toward the rear emergency exit of the hangar.
Vincent didn’t even look in his direction.
He simply raised the tactical shotgun with one hand and fired a single round.
*BOOM!*
The heavy blast of double-ought buckshot shattered Julian’s right ankle from thirty yards away. Julian let out a bloodcurdling scream, collapsing face-first onto the oily concrete floor, clawing desperately at the ground as he dragged his useless, ruined leg behind him.
Marco stood completely paralyzed in the center of the hangar floor, the scent of burning gunpowder washing over him. The flask slipped from his numb fingers, bouncing against the concrete with a hollow metallic clatter.
“Vincent…” Marco whispered, his voice cracking, his hands trembling violently in the air. “Vincent, please… look at me. I’m your father’s brother. I held you when you were a baby. You can't do this. Blood does not spill blood!”
Vincent walked forward with slow, measured steps. The shotgun dangled at his side, smoking from the muzzle. The rain was running down his face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, but his eyes were wide, clear, and utterly pitiless.
“You forgot that rule five years ago, Marco,” Vincent said, stopping five feet from his uncle.
“I was trying to protect the family!” Marco shrieked, tears of sheer cowardice spilling down his flabby cheeks. “You were weak! You were going to throw everything away for that Bennett girl! Your father built this empire on fear and respect, and you were ready to abandon it for a suburban nobody!”
“She gave me a daughter,” Vincent said quietly. “And you tried to inject poison into her veins.”
“It wasn't me! It was Julian!” Marco yelled, pointing wildly at the groaning man dragging himself across the floor in a trail of blood. “Julian hired the clinic! Julian paid the nurse! I swear on our family name, Vincent, I only wanted her sent away! I didn't want her dead!”
From the far corner of the hangar, Julian coughed up blood, screaming in agony. “He’s lying! Marco signed the wire transfers! He told me… he told me if the girl died, Vincent would lose his mind and the commission would hand the seat to him!”
Marco lunged forward, not at Vincent, but in a desperate, frantic bid to snatch the gun dropped by Nikolai’s guard.
Vincent didn’t fire the shotgun.
He dropped the weapon, closed the distance like a striking viper, and drove a vicious front kick into Marco’s chest. The impact sounded like a baseball bat snapping a dry branch.
Marco flew backward through the air, smashing violently into the landing gear of the Gulfstream jet. He hit the tarmac, gasping for air, clutching his caved-in ribs, vomiting dark blood onto his expensive camel coat.
Vincent walked over to him, towering above him like the Angel of Death.
He drew his customized .45 from his holster, pulling the slide back to chamber a round with a crisp, terrifying *clack*.
“Vincent… please…” Marco wheezed, looking up into the barrel of the gun. “Don’t… don't do this…”
“My daughter’s name is Lily,” Vincent whispered.
*Crack!*
The shot snapped through the hangar, echoing once, twice, before dying into the roar of the storm outside.
Marco Moretti’s body went limp against the jet tire, a neat black hole between his eyes.
Silence descended over the hangar, broken only by the whimpering of the dying Julian Rossi and the hum of the idling Suburbans.
Nikolai Tarasov stepped forward, his bodyguards keeping their weapons down. He looked at Marco’s corpse, then shifted his gaze to Vincent, who was already holstering his weapon.
“A clean piece of work, Don Moretti,” Nikolai said, his voice measured, professional. “The traitor is dead. Our accounts are settled.”
Vincent turned his cold hazel eyes toward the Russian boss. There was no gratitude in his expression. Only the chilling reality of syndicate business.
“Our accounts are not settled, Nikolai,” Vincent said, his voice flat as a razor. “Your hit squad put bullet holes in my car while my daughter was inside.”
Nikolai’s smile tightened, the humor vanishing from his eyes. “I was acting on bad intelligence provided by your own council, Vincent. I gave you Marco. That was my gift of goodwill.”
“Your gift bought your life tonight,” Vincent replied, taking a step toward the Russian Don until their chests were barely inches apart. “You pull every Russian soldier out of Cook County by sunrise. If I see a single Tarasov face south of the Wisconsin border after 6:00 AM, I won't send an invitation to an airstrip. I will burn your high-rises to the ground with you inside them.”
Nikolai stared at Vincent for five long, agonizing seconds. The Russian boss was powerful, but standing in the presence of a man who had just dismantled an entire conspiracy in two hours, he saw the madness lurking behind Vincent’s eyes.
A father with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous creature on earth.
Nikolai nodded slowly. “Understood, Don Moretti. Safe travels back to Lake Forest.”
Vincent didn’t say another word. He turned on his heel, walked toward his Suburban, and climbed into the passenger seat.
Sal stepped up, wiping rain from his brow as he looked down at the bleeding, shivering Julian Rossi.
“What about Julian, Boss?” Sal asked over the radio.
Vincent didn’t even look out the window.
“Leave him for the storm.”
Sal slammed the truck door shut, climbed behind the wheel, and threw the vehicle into gear. The three Suburbans surged out of the hangar, tires screaming against the wet asphalt, racing south down I-94 through the blinding sheets of rain.
Vincent checked the illuminated dial of his watch.
4:45 AM.
May you like
He leaned his head back against the leather headrest, closing his eyes for the first time in thirty-six hours. His hands were covered in grease, rainwater, and gunpowder.
“Drive faster, Sal,” Vincent whispered. “My daughter is waiting for me.”
