Chapter 8 - Blood on the Hudson
The rain had stopped, leaving Manhattan wrapped in a suffocating blanket of gray river fog.
The black sedan raced north along the West Side Highway, cutting through traffic with reckless speed.
Frank was working the vehicle's satellite phone, patching through coordinates from an emergency trace.
“We found Vance’s credit card activity,” Frank reported, checking the digital readout on the screen.
“He bought fuel at an industrial marina near Pier 42 twenty minutes ago.”
“He’s trying to charter a private tugboat to take him down the coast to the Jersey marshes.”
Sophie wiped the dry tear tracks from her cheeks, clutching the tape recorder inside her coat pocket.
“If Matteo knows Vance is running, Matteo will send his executioners to silence him,” she said, her voice turning hard and sharp.
Nico checked the magazine of his .45, slapping it home with a sharp, echoing snap.
“Vance is our only living witness who can testify that the body in the grave was an imposter,” Nico replied.
“Without Vance, the police will treat Claire’s tape as the dying delusion of a paranoid woman.”
“We take him alive.”
Ten minutes later, the sedan slid to a halt behind a row of rusted shipping containers near Pier 42.
The smell of rotting timber, diesel exhaust, and brackish river water hung thick in the air.
A dilapidated wooden boathouse stood at the far end of the dock, its green paint peeling away in long strips.
A lone silhouette was visible through the dirty glass window, frantically shoving duffel bags into a plastic crate.
“That’s Vance,” Nico whispered, unholstering his weapon.
“Frank, take the rear access ladder.”
“Sophie, stay in the vehicle.”
Sophie reached out and grabbed Nico’s sleeve with surprising strength.
“No,” she said firmly, looking straight into his cold gray eyes.
“Vance knows my face.”
“If he sees you coming through the door with a gun, he might swallow a bullet before you can ask a question.”
“He needs to see Claire’s face.”
Nico stared at her for two seconds, recognizing the unyielding stubbornness of the Castiglione blood.
He handed her a compact ceramic pistol from the glove compartment.
“Safety is on the left,” Nico instructed quietly.
“Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to end a life.”
They moved swiftly through the shadows of the rusted containers, their footsteps muffled by the damp gravel.
The wooden door of the boathouse hung crookedly on rusted iron hinges.
Inside, Dr. Vance was sweating profusely, his expensive cashmere sweater soaked through with panic.
He was shoving stacks of hundred-dollar bills and medical ledgers into a waterproof sailing bag.
Sophie stepped across the threshold first, her leather shoes creaking against the floorboards.
“Dr. Vance.”
The dentist spun around, gasping for breath, dropping a bundle of cash onto the dirt.
He looked at Sophie’s face, standing framed against the gray light of the river.
His knees buckled instantly, his back slamming against the wooden workbench behind him.
“Claire?” he whimpered, his eyes bulging in pure, unadulterated terror.
“Oh God… no… you're dead…”
“I signed the papers… I swear I signed the papers!”
Nico stepped through the doorway behind her, his heavy silhouette blocking out the light.
The barrel of Nico's .45 rose steadily until it was leveled directly between Vance’s eyes.
“Look closer, Vance,” Nico commanded in a voice as cold as ice water.
“This isn't Claire.”
“This is Sofia.”
“The twin you and my father erased twenty-six years ago.”
Vance slid down the front of the workbench until he was sitting on the dirty floor, sobbing like a child.
“I had no choice, Nico!” Vance wept, covering his face with trembling hands.
“Vincent told me he would butcher my family if I didn't issue the stillborn certificate thirty years ago!”
“And three years ago, Matteo came to my clinic with two hitmen!”
“They brought a body from a tenement fire in the Bronx!”
“They forced me to substitute the dental molds!”
Sophie stepped forward, her voice trembling with furious demand.
“Where is Claire?”
“Tell me where my sister is!”
Before Vance could answer, the glass window behind his head shattered into a million sparkling shards.
A high-caliber sniper round tore through the dentist’s left shoulder, spraying bright crimson across the wooden wall.
Vance screamed in agony, collapsing sideways onto the floor.
“Down!” Nico roared, tackling Sophie to the floorboards just as a second round chewed through the doorframe.
The heavy thump of automatic gunfire erupted from the roof of the adjacent shipping container.
Three black sedans pulled onto the gravel dock outside, their doors flying open in unison.
Six men in tactical vests advanced toward the boathouse, spraying suppression fire through the wooden walls.
“Matteo’s sweep team!” Frank shouted from the back entrance, returning fire with his submachine gun.
The air filled with the deafening roar of gunshots, the smell of cordite, and flying splinters of wood.
Nico dragged Vance by his collar behind a heavy steel diesel generator in the center of the room.
Sophie crawled beside them, clutching her small pistol, her ears ringing from the deafening noise.
Nico leaned out from behind the generator, firing three controlled, lethal shots through the doorway.
Two of the advancing hitmen collapsed instantly onto the gravel, their weapons clattering across the dock.
“Vance, talk to me before I throw you out that door!” Nico barked, reloading his sidearm in a single fluid motion.
Vance was clutching his bleeding shoulder, his face pale from shock and blood loss.
“Saint Jude!” Vance choked out between ragged gasps of air.
“The private sanitarium in the Adirondack mountains!”
“Matteo put her there under the name Maria Gallo!”
“They keep her heavily sedated in the south wing!”
“Why?” Sophie screamed over the roar of gunfire.
“Why keep her alive?”
“The offshore accounts!” Vance wept, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips.
“The Castiglione trust requires an annual biometric thumbprint verification!”
“Matteo brings the scanning device to her bedside every November!”
“If she dies, the accounts lock automatically!”
A grenade bounced through the broken window, rolling across the wooden floorboards toward their position.
“Out the back!” Nico yelled, grabbing Sophie’s jacket and shoving her toward the river exit.
May you like
Frank caught Vance by the waist and dragged the wounded doctor through the rear hatch.
They leaped onto the floating wooden pier just as the boathouse exploded in a roaring fireball of orange flame and splintered cedar.
