Chapter 7 - THE JUDAS KISS
Vincent stared at the glowing screen of my phone.
The rain poured around us, plastering our hair to our faces, but neither of us moved.
In the photograph, Marcus Hale—the man currently standing ten feet away from us, chambering a round into his rifle—was pressing the barrel of a pistol against my six-year-old son’s temple.
The timestamp on the photo was from ten minutes ago.
When Marcus had supposedly gone to the armory to fetch our vests.
Vincent didn’t gasp. He didn’t yell.
The terrifying calmness of the mafia boss returned, dropping the temperature of the air around us to absolute zero.
He slowly looked up from the phone and met my eyes.
He pressed a finger to his lips. Silence.
"Boss," Marcus called out through the rain, turning back to face us. "We need to breach the side doors. The boy is likely on the third floor."
"Change of plans," Vincent said, his voice smooth, casual. "Claire says there’s a basement entrance near the rectory. We take that."
Marcus frowned slightly. "The basement? Boss, we lose the high ground."
"We go through the basement, Marcus," Vincent repeated, taking a step toward his oldest friend. "Lead the way."
Marcus hesitated for a fraction of a second. But a good soldier always follows orders. He nodded, turning his back to us and heading toward the narrow alleyway alongside the cathedral.
Vincent grabbed my shoulder, leaning in so close I could feel the heat of his breath.
"When we get inside," Vincent whispered into my ear, "you run. You don't look back. You find Leo."
"What about you?" I breathed.
"I'm going to talk to my head of security."
We followed Marcus down a set of slippery stone steps into the pitch-black catacombs of St. Jude's.
The air smelled of mildew and old incense.
Marcus flicked on the tactical flashlight attached to his rifle, the beam cutting through the darkness, illuminating dust motes and ancient stone pillars.
"Stay close," Marcus whispered.
"I'm right behind you, old friend," Vincent replied.
We walked deeper into the labyrinth. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it.
Every shadow looked like a trap. Every sound felt like a gunshot.
Finally, we reached a large wooden door at the end of a corridor.
"This leads to the main sanctuary," Marcus said, reaching for the handle.
As Marcus pushed the door open, stepping into the dim light of the church, Vincent moved with a speed that defied human logic.
Vincent lunged forward, grabbing the back of Marcus’s tactical vest with his left hand, and driving the barrel of his own pistol into the base of Marcus’s skull with his right.
"Drop it," Vincent growled, a demonic edge to his voice.
Marcus froze.
He didn't panic. He didn't struggle.
Slowly, Marcus let his rifle slip from his fingers. It clattered loudly against the stone floor.
"Go, Claire!" Vincent roared.
I didn't hesitate. I pushed past them, sprinting through the wooden doors into the cavernous main sanctuary of the cathedral.
I ran toward the winding spiral staircase that led to the bell tower, my lungs burning, my boots slipping on the polished marble floors.
Behind me, in the dark corridor, I heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the wall.
"Fifteen years," Vincent's voice echoed, thick with betrayal and rage. "You stood beside me for fifteen years. You wiped my tears when I buried my brother!"
"He was going to ruin us, Vincent!" Marcus yelled back, his voice cracking. "J.D. was going to turn the family legitimate! He was going to sell the docks, shut down the rackets! We would have lost everything!"
I hit the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I could hear their voices echoing up the stone shaft.
"So you sold him to the Morettis?!" Vincent roared.
"I did it for the family!" Marcus screamed. "I did it for you! You were strong enough to lead! J.D. was weak! And now his bastard son comes back to destroy everything we built?!"
"Where is the boy, Marcus?!"
"He's dead, Vincent!" Marcus laughed, a manic, hysterical sound. "I shot Julian an hour ago! I intercepted him at the safe house! I took the woman's kid to lure you here, away from your guards! It ends tonight!"
A gunshot rang out.
Deafening. Brutal.
It echoed up the spiral staircase, vibrating in my teeth.
I screamed, stopping on the stairs.
Silence followed.
"Vincent?!" I cried out into the dark.
No answer.
Tears blinded me, but I forced my legs to keep moving. I had to get to Leo.
I reached the top of the stairs, bursting through the heavy iron door into the bell tower.
The room was circular, open to the night air, the massive bronze bell hanging in the center.
Sitting in a wooden chair, bound by heavy zip-ties, was Leo.
He had tape over his mouth, and tears were streaming down his flushed cheeks.
"Leo!" I sobbed, dropping to my knees and sliding across the dusty floor.
I pulled the tape from his mouth as gently as I could.
"Mommy!" he cried, burying his face into my neck.
"I'm here, baby. I'm right here," I whispered, pulling my pocket knife to cut his zip-ties.
As the plastic snapped, a cold breeze swept through the open arches of the tower.
"How touching."
I froze.
Stepping out from behind the massive bronze bell was a man.
He wasn't Marcus.
He was in his late teens, wearing a heavy leather jacket.
His face was bruised, and he was holding his side, his hand covered in fresh blood.
But his eyes...
They were exactly like Vincent's. Dark, brooding, and filled with pain.
"Julian," I whispered.
"He shot me," Julian coughed, leaning heavily against the wall and raising a trembling gun toward us. "Marcus shot me... but I didn't die."
I shielded Leo with my body, putting myself between the gun and my son.
"Julian, please," I begged. "Marcus is the one who hurt your father. Not Vincent. Not us. Please let us go."
Julian cocked the hammer of the gun. Tears filled his eyes.
"My father died freezing in a labor camp," Julian cried. "My mother died of a broken heart. I have nothing left but vengeance."
He aimed the gun directly at my chest.
"Tell Vincent DeLuca," Julian whispered, "that I collect my debts."
His finger squeezed the trigger.
But before the gun could fire, a massive figure burst through the iron door behind us.
Vincent.
He was bleeding from a graze on his cheek, his suit torn.
He didn't raise his gun.
May you like
He threw himself directly in front of me and Leo.
BANG.
