Chapter 7 - A Trap in the Penthouse
Rain lashed violently against the reinforced windshield of Senator Marcus Vance’s armored SUV as it screeched to a halt on the Teterboro tarmac.
The pilot met the senator at the base of the boarding stairs, his face pale with panic.
“Senator, the FAA just locked down the entire airspace! We can’t get clearance to taxi!” the pilot shouted over the roar of the wind.
“Override it! I am a United States Senator!” Vance roared, his expensive cashmere coat soaking in the freezing deluge.
“I don’t care about regulations! Get this bird in the air, or I’ll have your license revoked by morning!”
“I can’t override the military transponder codes, sir!” the pilot screamed back.
“Someone higher up than the FAA grounded us! We’re sitting ducks!”
Before Vance could unleash another tirade of curses, the blinding headlights of four black Escalades burst through the perimeter gates.
The heavy security barriers splintered like matchsticks under the weight of the reinforced steel bumpers.
The convoy surrounded the private jet in a tactical circle, trapping the aircraft and Vance’s security detail within a ring of iron.
Vance’s private mercenaries drew their weapons, taking cover behind the SUV doors.
“Put the guns down!” Vance hissed in sheer terror, recognizing the distinct crimson crest painted on the lead vehicle’s grill.
“You fools! You have no idea who that is! If you shoot, not a single one of us leaves this runway alive!”
The door of the center Escalade swung open, and Vincent Moretti stepped out into the pouring rain.
He did not rush.
He did not seek cover.
The rain streamed down his face and slicked his dark hair, but his cold, predatory eyes never blinked.
He walked straight toward the trembling senator, completely indifferent to the dozen assault rifles aimed at his chest.
Behind Vincent, thirty heavily armed Moretti enforcers fanned out, their laser sights painting bright red dots across the foreheads of Vance’s guards.
The mercenaries looked at each other, their hands sweating on their triggers.
They were paid to protect a politician, not to commit suicide against the Moretti army.
One by one, the mercenaries lowered their weapons and dropped them onto the wet tarmac.
“Traitors! Cowards! I pay your salaries!” Vance screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria.
Vincent stopped five feet from the senator, looking down at the sixty-year-old man who had orchestrated the ruin of the Romano empire.
“Marcus Vance,” Vincent spoke, his voice cutting through the howl of the storm like a broadsword.
“You look nervous for a man about to take a Swiss vacation.”
Vance swallowed hard, pulling his soaked collar tight around his throat, trying desperately to muster some political arrogance.
“Vincent... you are making a catastrophic mistake,” Vance stammered, his teeth chattering from the cold.
“I am a sitting senator! If you lay a hand on me, the entire weight of the Federal Government will crush your syndicate!”
Vincent tilted his head slightly, a cold smirk touching his lips.
“The federal government does not govern this city, Vance. I do.”
Vincent reached into his coat and produced Chase Montgomery’s shattered smartphone, tossing it into the puddle at Vance’s feet.
“You hired a worthless hedge-fund parasite to beat a helpless woman and steal her birthright.”
“You thought you could erase the Romano bloodline and take their legacy for yourself.”
Vance’s face turned from pale to completely ash-gray as he looked down at the shattered phone.
“She... she shouldn't have survived that night fifteen years ago,” Vance hissed, his panic suddenly turning into bitter, cornered venom.
“Anthony Romano was weak! He was going to dismantle the syndicates, go legitimate, and leave us with nothing!”
“I took what was rightfully mine!”
Vincent’s hand moved faster than human sight.
His fingers clamped around Vance’s throat, lifting the grown man off the ground and slamming him against the cold aluminum fuselage of the jet.
The senator gagged, kicking his legs wildly, clutching at Vincent’s iron wrists.
“Anthony Romano was a king,” Vincent growled into Vance’s ear, his voice dripping with pure venom.
“And you are nothing but a tick feeding on the corpse of a lion.”
“You wanted the Romano inheritance? You wanted the final signature?”
Vincent signaled with his left hand, and Marco stepped forward, carrying the encrypted silver terminal.
May you like
“You are going to sign over every asset, every account, and every shell corporation back to Emma Romano tonight.”
“And then, Marcus... you are going to pay the blood price for the hit you ordered.”
