Chapter 9 - The Line in the Sand
Ten minutes after leaving the Ritz-Carlton, I was back in the command SUV with Marcus tearing through the Boston midday traffic toward the financial district.
“Get Julian Vance on the secure line right now,” I ordered Marcus, my fingers flying over my encrypted tablet.
“Boss, Vance won't take our call after last night,” Marcus cautioned.
“He will when he hears what Victoria just filed in the state supreme court,” I snapped. “Do it!”
Marcus dialed the private direct line Julian had provided during our brief conversation on the driveway.
The phone rang twice before Julian's calm, authoritative voice came through the SUV's speaker system.
“Moretti,” Julian said, completely devoid of surprise. “I assume your meeting with your mother didn't go well.”
“She filed an emergency ex parte custody motion through corrupt state judges,” I said rapidly. “She plans to use state child protective services as a legal smokescreen to extract Leo and Maya on Friday and fly them directly to Sicily.”
There was a brief, lethal silence on the line.
“Which judges signed the motion?” Julian asked, his voice shifting instantly into the razor-sharp tone of a federal prosecutor who smelled blood.
“Judge Harold Morrison and Judge Arthur Vance,” I read from the stolen court documents.
Julian let out a cold, humorless breath. “Arthur Vance is my estranged second cousin. He’s been taking kickbacks from construction unions connected to the New York mob for five years.”
“Can you neutralize the court order?” I asked.
“I can do better than neutralize it,” Julian replied with lethal confidence. “I still have grand jury files on Arthur Vance from my time at the Department of Justice. I was saving them for a rainy day. It appears that day has arrived.”
“That only solves the legal front,” I warned him. “Victoria won't rely solely on the courts. If her legal petition stalls, she will activate an independent mercenary cell she maintains through our Sicilian contacts.”
“Where is Evelyn right now?” I asked, panic suddenly flaring in my chest.
“She took the twins to their private Montessori preschool in Brookline for their afternoon music class,” Julian answered, and for the first time, I heard a crack of genuine terror in his aristocratic voice.
“How many men do you have with her?”
“Two former Secret Service agents,” Julian said. “They're armed, but—”
“Two men won't stop a Sicilian hit squad, Vance!” I roared into the phone. “My mother’s mercenaries operate with military-grade automatic weapons and tactical smoke! They don't negotiate; they execute everyone in the perimeter and grab the targets!”
“I'm ten minutes away from Brookline,” Julian said, the sound of his car engine accelerating aggressively in the background.
“We're five minutes out,” I told him, racking the slide of my Colt .45 and pulling two extra magazines from the glove box. “Marcus, hit the siren! Run every red light between here and Brookline!”
Our SUV tore through the historic brick avenues of Brookline, tires screaming around sharp corners as pedestrians scattered onto the sidewalks.
The autumn sky had turned a dark, bruised purple, heavy with the promise of an incoming storm.
Up ahead, the charming ivy-covered brick building of St. Jude Montessori Preschool came into view.
Parked directly across the narrow street from the playground gate was a nondescript gray delivery van with no commercial logos.
My blood ran cold.
It was the textbook setup for a tactical abduction.
Two men in black tactical jackets and baseball caps were already walking purposefully toward the preschool entrance, their right hands buried deep inside their oversized coats.
Just past the decorative iron fence, Evelyn was walking down the stone steps toward the courtyard, holding little Maya by the hand while little Leo skipped happily beside her, clutching his wooden toy train.
Evelyn's two private security guards were walking ten paces behind her, completely unaware of the threat approaching from the blind spot behind the delivery van.
“Marcus, ram the van!” I shouted, throwing off my seatbelt.
Our SUV blasted over the curb at forty miles an hour, smashing directly into the side panel of the gray delivery van with a bone-shattering metallic crash.
The impact spun the van sideways, crushing one of the mercenary spotters against the brick retaining wall.
The two armed men walking toward the school entrance spun around in shock, drawing suppressed automatic pistols from their jackets.
“Get down!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, kicking my door open and firing three rapid rounds into the pavement in front of the gunmen.
The loud cracks of unsuppressed gunfire shattered the peaceful suburban afternoon.
Evelyn screamed, throwing herself over both children on the cold stone steps, shielding their small bodies entirely with her own frame.
Her security detail reacted instantly, drawing their handguns and returning fire while ushering Evelyn and the twins back toward the heavy oak doors of the school.
One of the mercenary shooters raised an automatic submachine gun, aiming directly at the doorway where Evelyn was dragging the terrified children inside.
I didn't think about my empire.
I didn't think about Chicago, my title, my mother, or the billions of dollars sitting in offshore accounts.
I only saw the little girl with my eyes and the little boy with my grandfather's name.
I launched myself across the open courtyard, my body moving faster than thought, throwing myself directly between the muzzle of the weapon and the doorway where my children were retreating.
May you like
The gun roared.
A white-hot line of agony tore through the left side of my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs and sending me crashing violently onto the bloody brick pathway.
