Chapter 59 - The Queen's Ransom
Five minutes later, we were in the courtyard under the glaring halogen floodlights of the perimeter wall. Fifty heavily armed Moretti soldiers surrounded the perimeter, rifles at the ready.
Antonio was dragged out, forced to his knees in the gravel beside Salvatore and the remaining four Capos.
Vincent stood before them like a vengeful specter of his father, the Kimber resting loosely in his right hand. I stood beside him, clutching the tablet that held the decrypted files of Aegis Holdings.
"A transport helicopter cleared our northern airspace four minutes ago," Salvatore reported, his hands trembling as he showed Vincent the radar tracking screen. "Heading west toward the private airstrip at Malpensa. They have a Gulfstream waiting with clearance for JFK."
"Who cleared the northern gate?" Vincent asked quietly. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
None of the Capos spoke.
"I asked a question," Vincent said.
"Vincent, please," Capo Roberto, an older man who controlled the docks in Genoa, stammered, sweat pouring down his temples. "We didn't know they would take the child! They told us it was an audit! They said the American Commission was only exercising its oversight under the 1999 charter!"
Vincent didn't blink. He raised the weapon and fired once.
Roberto collapsed into the gravel, clutching his shattered kneecap, screaming in agony. The other Capos flinched, their eyes wide with sheer panic.
"The next bullet goes through your skull, Roberto," Vincent said coldly. "Who authorized the New York transport?"
"Dante!" Roberto shrieked, writhing in the dirt. "Dante was on their payroll! He disarmed the penthouse security from the inside! He’s on the flight with the girl!"
Vincent looked at Salvatore. "Can Malpensa air traffic be grounded?"
"The airport authority is controlled by the state police," Salvatore said grimly. "We can delay them on the runway with our vehicles, but we have less than twenty minutes before they reach cruising altitude. If that plane takes off, she’s in American airspace, beyond our reach."
I stepped forward, thrusting the tablet into Vincent’s view. "We don't need to stop the plane with bullets, Vincent. Look at Codicil 7 again."
Vincent glanced down at the glowing screen.
"The trust doesn't just freeze assets," I said, pointing to the nested clauses buried beneath the legal jargon. "It triggers an immediate maritime and aviation seizure warrant under the International Maritime Court if the primary beneficiary is transported across borders without the legal guardian’s biometric consent. Cesare had friends in the Hague. The moment they cross into international airspace, the plane is flagged as an active kidnapping in progress. Every NATO base in southern Europe will scramble."
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Vincent stared at the clause, then looked at me, a dark, ferocious pride igniting in his eyes.
"Activate it," Vincent commanded.
