Chapter 10 - THE PENTHOUSE HEIST AND THE FINAL TRANSFER
The private jet tore through the early morning sky, racing the sun back to Chicago.
I sat strapped into a leather chair, nursing a cup of black coffee that tasted like anxiety. Across the aisle, Vincent was quietly reassuring his mother, Maria, who had finally fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep, covered in warm blankets.
Marco sat near the cockpit, communicating furiously over a secure headset, coordinating the rooftop landing with the pilot and the ground team waiting in the city.
"We touch down in twenty minutes," Marco announced, pulling off his headset and walking back to where Vincent and I were sitting. "The airspace over downtown is clear. The pilot says the helipad on Silvio’s penthouse roof is structurally sound for the jet's VTOL capabilities."
Vincent nodded grimly. He stood up, moving away from his sleeping mother so as not to wake her, and walked to the small weapons locker at the back of the cabin.
He pulled out two sleek, suppressed submachine guns and tossed one to Marco.
"Non-lethal if possible, Marco," Vincent ordered quietly, checking his own magazine. "Arthur is a thief, not a soldier. If we kill him before he reverses the transfer, the fifty million is lost in the digital ether forever. I need him alive to type the cancellation codes."
"Understood, Boss," Marco grinned, slamming the magazine home. "I’ll aim for the kneecaps."
Vincent turned to me. The hardened mafia boss looked at the housemaid sitting in the corner with a mixture of profound gratitude and protective concern.
"Julia," Vincent said softly, kneeling beside my chair. "When we land on the roof, you stay on the plane with my mother. Do not open the cabin door until I come back for you."
I gripped the warm coffee mug, my knuckles turning white. "Vincent, Arthur knows me. I served him coffee every morning. He thinks I’m just a terrified maid. Let me go in first. I can distract him. If you and Marco kick the door down, he might panic and finalize the transfer before you can reach the laptop."
Vincent’s jaw tightened. "Absolutely not. I’m not sending a civilian into a hostile environment as bait."
"I’m not a civilian anymore, Vincent," I argued gently, looking him dead in the eye. "I helped you survive a coup tonight. I stood in front of a firing squad at the docks. I can do this. You need that money to rebuild the family’s legitimate businesses. Let me help you get it back."
Vincent stared at me, the conflict waging a fierce war in his dark eyes. He wanted to protect me, but he knew my logic was flawless. A tactical breach would take ten seconds; a keystroke took one.
"Two minutes," Vincent finally relented, his voice thick with reluctance. "You go in through the roof access door. You have two minutes to get him talking. Marco and I will breach from the balcony simultaneously. If he raises a weapon, you drop to the floor. Do you swear?"
"I swear," I nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, the sleek private jet hovered over the towering Chicago skyline, descending smoothly onto the private helipad atop the luxurious, glass-walled penthouse that had belonged to Silvio Marino.
The sun was just beginning to peek over Lake Michigan, casting a brilliant golden light across the city.
The ramp lowered. I stepped out into the biting wind, pulling a borrowed dark jacket tight around my shoulders. Vincent and Marco flanked me, moving silently like shadows.
We reached the heavy steel door leading down from the helipad into the penthouse.
Vincent picked the electronic lock with terrifying speed, bypassing the keypad. He pushed the door open an inch, peering down the spiral staircase into the sprawling, multi-million-dollar living room below.
He nodded to me.
I took a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heart. I stepped past him, walking quietly down the spiral stairs.
The penthouse was stunning, decorated with modern art and expensive leather furniture. But my eyes were immediately drawn to the massive glass dining table in the center of the room.
Arthur, the quiet, unassuming financial advisor, was sitting there. He looked disheveled, sweating profusely, his tie loosened as his fingers flew across the keyboard of a high-powered laptop. Three extra monitors were plugged in, displaying complex lines of code and offshore banking interfaces.
He didn't hear me approach over the sound of his frantic typing.
"Mr. Arthur?" I called out softly, my voice trembling just enough to sound authentically terrified.
Arthur jumped so hard he nearly knocked the laptop off the table. He spun around, pulling a small, silver pistol from his jacket pocket with clumsy, shaking hands, aiming it wildly in my direction.
When he saw it was me, his eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
"Julia?" Arthur gasped, keeping the gun raised but visibly relaxing his posture. "How... how did you get up here?"
"I ran," I lied, tears springing to my eyes, playing the part of the panicked maid perfectly. "The mansion was attacked, Arthur! There were men everywhere! I hid in the trunk of one of the cars that fled the estate. I didn't know where to go. I remembered you mentioning you were working from Mr. Silvio’s penthouse tonight. Please, you have to help me!"
Arthur stared at me, his brilliant, calculating mind trying to process the anomaly of my presence. The arrogance of the intellectual thief won over his paranoia. He lowered the gun slightly, believing the pathetic story because he viewed me as a pathetic creature.
"You shouldn't have come here, Julia," Arthur sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I can't help you. I’m leaving the country in ten minutes."
"Leaving?" I whimpered, taking a slow step toward the table, keeping my eyes wide and innocent. "But what about Mr. Vincent? The family needs you!"
Arthur let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Vincent is a dead man. The Romanos slaughtered him at the docks tonight. The Marino empire is crumbling, Julia. And I’m taking my severance package before the ship sinks."
He turned back to the laptop, glancing at a progress bar on the screen.
Transfer Status: 98% Complete.
My stomach plummeted. I had to stall him.
"Severance package?" I asked, taking another step closer, intentionally knocking a crystal vase off a side table.
It shattered loudly against the hardwood floor.
Arthur flinched violently, raising the gun again, distracted from the screen. "Watch what you’re doing, you stupid girl! Stay right there!"
"I’m sorry! I’m just so scared!" I cried, backing away, keeping his attention entirely fixed on my feigned panic.
I counted the seconds in my head.
One. Two. Three.
The floor-to-ceiling glass windows leading to the balcony suddenly exploded inward.
A hail of suppressed gunfire shattered the reinforced glass into a million glittering pieces. Arthur screamed, dropping his gun and throwing his arms over his head as he dove under the glass dining table.
Before he could even comprehend what was happening, Marco swung through the shattered window on a tactical rope, landing perfectly on the hardwood floor.
Vincent crashed through the adjacent window a second later, moving with terrifying speed.
He didn't go for Arthur. He dove across the room, sliding across the floor on his knees, reaching the laptop just as Arthur scrambled to grab it.
Vincent slammed his hand down on the keyboard, hitting a sequence of keys that brought up a hard override prompt.
Arthur shrieked from under the table, lunging for Vincent’s leg.
Marco stepped forward and casually kicked Arthur in the ribs, sending the financial advisor sprawling across the floor, gasping for air.
Vincent ripped the power cord from the wall, slammed the laptop shut, and pulled a specialized USB decryption drive from his pocket—a failsafe tool designed for exactly this kind of betrayal. He jammed it into the side of the laptop.
The screen flickered, the progress bar freezing at 99%.
Transfer Cancelled. Funds Reverting to Origin Account.
Vincent let out a long, heavy breath, resting his forehead against the closed lid of the laptop. The fifty million dollars was safe. The future of the family was secure.
He stood up slowly, turning to look at Arthur, who was weeping in pain on the floor, Marco’s heavy boot resting on his chest.
Vincent didn't yell. He didn't gloat.
He walked over to me, wrapping his arm protectively around my shoulders, shielding me from the broken glass.
"You did perfectly, Julia," Vincent whispered, a profound, unbreakable pride in his dark eyes.
He turned back to the thief on the floor.
"Arthur," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal hum that promised absolute destruction. "You have five seconds to tell me who gave you the decryption key to my father’s emergency accounts. Because Silvio didn't have it."
Arthur coughed up blood, staring at Vincent with wide, terrified eyes.
"It wasn't Silvio," Arthur wheezed, knowing his life depended on the answer. "It was the woman. The one who hired me to monitor the house."
Vincent frowned, confusion breaking his stoic facade. "What woman? Bianca is dead."
"Not Bianca," Arthur choked out, pointing a trembling finger toward the shattered balcony doors. "Her."
I spun around, following his finger.
Standing in the doorway of the penthouse bedroom, illuminated by the rising sun, was a woman I had never seen before.
She was tall, elegant, wearing a perfectly tailored white suit. Her dark hair was impeccably styled, her expression calm and chillingly familiar.
May you like
She looked exactly like Vincent.
"Hello, little brother," the woman smiled, stepping into the living room. "It’s been a long time."
