Chapter 7 - THE FAMILY HEIRLOOM
The image on the security monitor burned into my retinas. Mrs. Gable, the sweet woman who baked cookies for Leo and watched him when I worked double shifts, was standing in the freezing snow, a gun pressed to her temple.
"He intercepted her on the way to the airport," Vincent said, his voice dropping to a lethal octave. His hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard the wood groaned.
"Aunt Em?" Leo asked, stepping closer to the screen. "Is that Mrs. Gable?"
"Don't look, buddy," I said, quickly turning him away and pressing him into Eleanor's side. "Eleanor, take the children upstairs. Lock the doors."
Eleanor didn't argue. She took Leo and Mia by the hands. "We will be in the vault room. Do what you have to do, Vincent."
As the doors closed behind them, I turned to Vincent. "We give him the book. We have to."
"If we give Carlo the ledger, he kills Mrs. Gable anyway," Vincent said, pulling a heavy tactical vest from a hidden compartment behind the bookshelf. "He leaves no witnesses. He’s out of time, and he’s desperate. He brought his entire crew to my front door."
"Then what do we do?" I asked, my voice rising in panic.
Vincent strapped the vest over his chest and checked the magazine of his weapon. He looked up at me, his dark eyes resolute. "I am going to open the front gates. I am going to walk out there, and I am going to end Carlo Moretti."
"He has twenty men out there!" I yelled. "It's a suicide mission."
"It's my responsibility," Vincent said, stepping closer to me. He gently reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was incredibly tender, a sharp contrast to the violence he was about to commit. "Ten years ago, your father took a bullet for me. He sacrificed his life to give me a second chance. I am not going to let the people you love pay the price for my war anymore."
"Vincent, please," I begged, the tears returning. The thought of losing him—a man I had only really known for a few hours, but who had fundamentally changed my world—was suddenly unbearable.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, ornate silver key. He pressed it into my palm and closed my fingers over it.
"This is the key to the wall safe behind the painting," Vincent said softly. "Inside is a hard drive. It's a digital backup of your father's ledger. While I distract Carlo at the gate, you use the secure line to call the FBI task force. Their direct number is taped to the drive. They will come."
"And what happens to you?" I whispered.
Vincent smiled. It was a sad, beautiful smile. "I finally balance the books."
He turned and walked out of the study.
I stood there for three agonizing seconds, staring at the silver key in my hand. It was a family heirloom, passed down from his father. He was trusting me with his empire, his legacy, and his life.
I ran to the painting, tore it off the wall, and jammed the key into the safe. The heavy door swung open. Inside was the hard drive and a piece of paper with a phone number.
I grabbed the desk phone and dialed furiously.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation, Organized Crime Division," a voice answered.
"My name is Emily Carter," I said, my voice remarkably steady. "I have the shadow ledger for Carlo Moretti's syndicate. He is currently at the DeLuca estate in Westchester with twenty armed men holding a hostage. If you want him, you have five minutes before a bloodbath starts."
"Ma'am, stay inside, units are five miles out—"
I slammed the phone down.
Five miles out. It was too far. Vincent would be dead before they breached the gates.
I looked at the security monitor. Vincent was walking down the long, snow-covered driveway alone. The massive iron gates slowly began to hum open.
Carlo Moretti stepped forward, shoving Mrs. Gable to the ground. He raised his weapon, aiming directly at Vincent's chest.
I couldn't just watch. I couldn't let another person die for me.
I grabbed the heavy black ledger from the desk.
I ran out of the study, through the grand foyer, and threw open the massive oak front doors. The freezing winter air hit me like a wall.
"Stop!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, sprinting down the driveway into the snow.
Vincent spun around, his eyes widening in horror. "Emily! Go back inside!"
"No!" I yelled, holding the heavy black book high in the air. "Carlo! You want the ledger? Here it is!"
Carlo lowered his gun from Vincent and looked at me, a greedy, triumphant smile spreading across his scarred face. "Bring it here, girl."
I didn't stop running. But I didn't run toward Carlo.
I ran straight toward the massive stone fire pit in the center of the circular driveway. It was fully lit, a roaring bonfire meant to melt the ice on the cobblestones.
I reached the edge of the flames and held the book directly over the fire.
"Let her go, Carlo!" I shouted. "Let Mrs. Gable go, drop your weapons, or I drop the only copy of your operation into the fire!"
Carlo's smile vanished. "You wouldn't dare."
"My father died because of this book!" I screamed, the heat of the fire searing my face. "I have nothing left to lose! Try me!"
Carlo hesitated, his eyes darting between me, the fire, and Vincent, who had his weapon raised and pointed directly at Carlo's head.
Suddenly, the unmistakable, deafening sound of a dozen helicopter rotors echoed through the night sky.
The Feds weren't driving. They were flying.
Massive spotlights pierced through the falling snow, blinding Carlo's men. Sirens wailed from the main road.
Carlo realized it was a trap. He raised his gun toward me. "If I burn, you burn!"
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A gunshot rang out.
But it wasn't Carlo's.
