Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF PEACE
The gunshot rang out, deafening in the enclosed space.
I didn't shoot to kill. I shot the large electrical panel directly above Marco's head.
Sparks rained down like a waterfall of fire, shorting out the lights in the back half of the warehouse.
Marco dropped his gun and shielded his face, screaming as the sparks burned his jacket.
“I warned you,” I said, my voice echoing in the darkness.
I dropped the empty gun on the concrete floor.
Vincent wrapped his arm around me, and together, we walked out into the cool Chicago night.
Sal and his men covered our exit, melting into the shadows of the docks.
When we reached my old station wagon, Vincent collapsed against the passenger door.
He looked at me, exhausted, broken, but alive.
“You shot at him,” he said in disbelief.
“I missed on purpose,” I replied, unlocking the doors.
“Eleanor... you could have been killed.”
“Vincent,” I said, starting the engine. “For thirty years, I've watched you fight. Did you really think I didn't learn a few things?”
He reached across the console and took my hand.
His grip was weak, but warm.
“I'm so sorry, Ellie. For everything. The lies, Bianca, Clara... I thought I was carrying the burden alone.”
“You were,” I said gently. “That was your mistake.”
We drove in silence to the private airstrip where the plane was waiting.
When we pulled up to the tarmac, Clara was standing by the steps of the small jet, holding Leo.
When she saw Vincent's battered face, she gasped.
Vincent couldn't meet her eyes. The shame of ten years of absence weighed heavily on him.
He stayed by the car.
Clara looked at me. “Mom? Is he okay?”
“He's alive,” I said. “He gave up everything today. The money, the power, the territory. He traded it all for your safety.”
Clara looked at her father.
The terrifying mafia boss was gone. In his place was just an old, tired man who missed his little girl.
Leo tugged on Clara's hand. “Mommy, is that Grandpa?”
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
Slowly, she walked across the tarmac.
She stopped three feet from Vincent.
“You're an idiot,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Vincent nodded, tears spilling down his bruised cheeks. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Clara closed the distance and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Vincent broke down, sobbing into his daughter's shoulder.
May you like
I stood by the car, watching my family piece itself back together.
But as Leo ran over to hug my legs, a black SUV suddenly sped onto the tarmac, its high beams blinding us.
