Chapter 14 - Judgment Night
The standoff in the decaying chapel felt like eternity, suspended in a single heartbeat.
“You don’t have the guts, Bianca,” Vivienne hissed, her voice shaking as she backed closer to the altar, using the crying baby as a shield. “You’re a waitress. You’re a nobody from Queens. You don’t know how to take a life.”
“You’re right,” I said, my voice steady, my finger tightening on the trigger. “A few months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to look a person in the eye and pull this trigger. But then you held me down. You cut away my hair. You threw me into the freezing rain while I was pregnant with my child. You taught me exactly who you are, Vivienne. And now, I’m going to show you who I am.”
Behind Vivienne, one of her guards noticed a shadow moving in the rafters above. Marcus had snuck in through the roof. The guard raised his rifle to shoot Marcus, but I didn't hesitate.
BANG.
My shot was perfectly placed. The heavy bullet tore through the guard’s shoulder, spinning him around and knocking him over the altar railing.
In the split second of chaos, Roman moved like a shadow. He sprinted forward, tackling the second guard to the floor, disarming him with a brutal strike to the jaw.
Vivienne screamed, dropping her pistol as she stumbled backward. Valentina slipped from her arms.
I dropped my rifle, sprinting across the ancient stone floor, sliding on my knees just in time to catch my daughter before she hit the hard concrete. I pulled her into my chest, shielding her body with mine as she let out a loud, healthy wail.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you,” I sobbed, kissing her face over and over.
Vivienne scrambled on her hands and knees toward her dropped gun, but a heavy, polished leather shoe stepped down on her wrist, crushing it against the stone.
She looked up into the cold, merciless eyes of her son.
“It’s over, Mother,” Roman said.
He didn’t raise a gun. He turned to Marcus, who had just dropped down from the rafters.
“Call the authorities,” Roman ordered.
Vivienne gasped, confused. “The police? You’re giving me to the cops? Roman, we don’t talk to the feds!”
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“I’m not giving you to the local police, Vivienne,” I spoke up, standing up with Valentina safely in my arms. “I sent the full encryption keys to your Cayman accounts, along with forty years of your tax evasion and murder-for-hire ledgers, to the FBI’s organized crime division an hour ago. You’re not going to a mafia graveyard, Vivienne. That would be too quick. You’re going to a maximum-security federal prison, where the queen of the underworld will spend the rest of her days wearing a cheap orange jumpsuit, eating stale bread, and realizing that a girl from Queens took everything you ever loved.”
Vivienne stared at me, her eyes wide with a horror far deeper than the fear of death. She had lost her money, her title, and her family. She was utterly, entirely defeated.
