Chapter 7 - THE DEBT OF HONOR
The air in the vault vanished.
I gripped Lily’s hand so tightly she let out a small squeak of protest. I immediately loosened my grip, pulling her flush against my legs.
“Aunt Grace?” Lily whispered, sensing the sudden, terrifying shift in the room. “Who are those men?”
“Just businessmen, honey,” I lied softly, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Lorenzo didn’t reach for a weapon. He didn’t flinch. He stood with his broad shoulders squared, a human shield between my family and his uncle.
“You are making a fatal miscalculation, Silvio,” Lorenzo said, his voice echoing evenly off the steel walls. “Victor is in federal custody. The Feds are tearing apart his ledgers as we speak. If you take those deeds by force, you tie yourself directly to his money laundering operation.”
Silvio laughed, a dry, rattling sound. He leaned on his cane and took a step into the vault.
“I have judges on my payroll who will bury those ledgers before they reach a courtroom,” Silvio said dismissively. “Your father was a sentimental fool, Lorenzo. Leaving millions of dollars in prime real estate to a baker just because the man made good cannoli? The family needs those properties to expand.”
“The properties belong to Grace,” Lorenzo stated, absolute and unyielding.
“The properties belong to the blood,” Silvio snapped. He gestured to his armed men. “Take the envelope. If my nephew interferes, shoot him in the leg. If the waitress screams, shoot her in the head.”
My blood ran cold.
Two of the armed men stepped forward, raising their weapons.
Lorenzo shifted his weight, preparing to lunge, willing to take a bullet to protect us.
I couldn’t let him die for me.
“Stop!” I yelled.
The sound of my voice bouncing off the metal walls surprised even me.
I stepped out from behind Lorenzo.
“Grace, stay back,” Lorenzo warned, reaching for my arm.
I ignored him. I grabbed the manila envelope off the viewing table and held it up.
“You want the deeds, Silvio?” I demanded, staring down the barrel of the guns. “Take them. I don’t want your money. I don’t want your properties. I just want my niece and Lorenzo to walk out of here safely.”
Silvio’s eyes gleamed with greedy satisfaction. “A smart girl. Bring them here.”
I took a step forward.
Lorenzo grabbed my wrist. His grip was firm, desperate.
“Do not give him your father’s legacy,” Lorenzo whispered fiercely.
I looked up into Lorenzo’s dark eyes. I saw the fear in them—not fear for his own life, but fear for mine.
I gave him a tiny, imperceptible nod. A silent promise that I wasn't just giving up.
I pulled my wrist free and walked toward Silvio.
I held out the thick manila envelope.
Silvio smiled, reaching out with his free hand to take it.
The moment his fingers touched the paper, I didn’t let go.
Instead, I used my other hand to reach inside my wool coat, grabbing the heavy, solid object I had secretly slipped out of the deposit box when Lorenzo was reading the letter.
It was a solid brass safety deposit box weight, easily three pounds of pure metal.
With a speed born of pure adrenaline, I swung my arm upward and smashed the brass weight directly across Silvio’s knuckles.
Silvio screamed, dropping his cane and the envelope, clutching his shattered hand against his chest.
“Get her!” Silvio roared in agony.
Before the armed men could even level their guns, Lorenzo moved.
He didn’t just fight; he erupted.
Lorenzo grabbed the heavy steel viewing table and flipped it violently upward, launching it directly into the two closest gunmen. The metal crashed into them, sending them sprawling to the floor.
He spun, grabbed the third man by the collar of his suit, and drove his knee brutally into the man’s stomach. As the man doubled over, Lorenzo slammed his elbow down onto the back of his neck. The man dropped like a stone.
The fourth gunman raised his pistol, aiming directly at Lorenzo’s back.
I didn’t think.
I threw the brass weight.
It flew through the air and struck the fourth gunman squarely in the side of the head. The gun went off, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the ceiling, as the man collapsed.
Silence slammed back into the room, deafening after the chaos.
Silvio was on his knees, clutching his broken hand, staring at Lorenzo in absolute shock.
Lorenzo breathed heavily, his suit jacket torn, his knuckles bloodied. He walked over to his uncle and looked down at him with an expression of pure ice.
“You are finished, Silvio,” Lorenzo said softly. “You will leave Chicago tonight. If you are seen within city limits by sunrise, I will not break your hand. I will break your neck.”
Lorenzo turned away, dismissing the broken man completely.
He walked over to me.
He looked at the unconscious men, then down at the brass weight rolling on the floor, and finally at me.
“You threw a bank weight at an armed man,” Lorenzo said, his voice entirely breathless.
“He was going to shoot you,” I replied, my hands shaking violently now that the adrenaline was fading.
May you like
Lorenzo didn’t say another word. He reached out, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me tight against his chest, burying his face in my hair.
For the first time since my father died, I felt completely, utterly safe.
