Chapter 13 - The Queen's Gambit
The St. Jude’s orphanage had been abandoned for twenty years. Located on the outer edges of Queens, it was a decaying brick monolith surrounded by rusted iron fences and overgrown weeds. It was ironic that Vivienne chose this place—my old neighborhood, the place she claimed to despise so much.
At 11:45 AM, a single black sedan pulled up to the entrance.
Roman stepped out, holding a thick leather folder containing his father’s original will. He walked up the cracked concrete steps alone, his posture stiff, his eyes scanning the broken windows.
Inside the dark, cavernous chapel of the orphanage, Vivienne stood near the altar. She looked manic, her hair wild, her expensive clothes stained with dirt from her time in the cellar. In her arms, she held a bundle—Valentina, who was crying softly, uncomfortable in the damp, cold building.
Two of Vivienne’s last remaining loyalists stood beside her, rifles trained on the entrance.
“You came,” Vivienne sneered as Roman walked down the center aisle. “Good. Drop the will at the altar and back away.”
“Give me my daughter, Mother,” Roman said, his voice tightly controlled. “You’ve lost. Dominic is dead. The council is ours. You have nowhere to run.”
“I don’t need to run!” Vivienne shrieked, tightening her grip on the baby, causing Valentina to cry harder. “Once I destroy this will, the estate reverts to the default corporate bylaws. I still have control over the offshore shell companies! I can rebuild! I won’t let some street rat’s kid take what I spent forty years building!”
“You really think I’m that predictable?”
The voice didn’t come from Roman.
It echoed from the shadow of the confessional booth near the back of the chapel.
Vivienne spun around, her guards raising their weapons.
I stepped out of the shadows. I wasn’t wearing a dress or a suit. I was wearing tactical gear, my bald head covered by a dark beanie, a high-caliber sniper rifle held steadily in my hands.
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“I told you not to bring her!” Vivienne screamed at Roman, panicking, raising a small pistol toward Valentina’s head. “I’ll kill her, Roman! I swear to God I’ll do it!”
“You won’t,” I said, taking a step forward, my eyes locked on her. “Because you love power too much to die for it. And if you even twitch your finger, I will put a bullet through your throat before you can pull that trigger.”
