Chapter 11 - The Reckoning in the Dark
The subterranean vault beneath Moretti Manor had changed over the last six months. The cold, sterile command center walls were now partially obscured by shelves of architectural books, children's drawings pinned to a corkboard, and the quiet hum of a domestic life trying to heal its scars.
Except for tonight.
The heavy steel vault door stood wide open. The overhead lights cast a harsh, clinical glare across the concrete floor where two bound and gagged men were thrown against the far wall.
Vincent Moretti sat at the steel desk, slowly cleaning the barrel of a heavy tactical pistol with a flannel cloth. He didn't look up when the elevator doors chimed and Marcus escorted Maya into the room.
Marcus guided Maya toward a comfortable leather armchair near the back. "Sit down, Maya. Have some water."
"Vincent," Maya said softly, stepping closer to the desk. "I'm fine. Marcus arrived before anything happened."
Vincent stopped cleaning the weapon. He laid the metal piece down on the desk with a heavy clack, stood up slowly, and walked over to her. His dark eyes swept over her face, checking for any hidden injury, any sign of trauma. When he was satisfied she was unharmed, his hand came up, his large, warm fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though a terrifying current of raw fury vibrated just beneath the surface.
"No," Maya answered honestly, placing her hand over his wrist. "I'm just shaken. But I'm okay."
Vincent nodded once. He turned away, his posture shifting instantly into the apex predator who had torn down a corporate syndicate. He walked slowly across the room until he stood directly over the two bound men kneeling on the cold concrete.
He crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees.
"Julian Cross is in a federal penitentiary facing three consecutive life sentences," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "His assets are frozen. His co-conspirators are indicted. Yet, two amateur freelance mercs decide to try and snatch a civilian off the streets of Irving Park."
The first man, bleeding from his shattered kneecap, groaned and spat blood onto the floor. "Go to hell, Moretti. You can't lock up everyone who hates you."
"I don't need to lock up everyone who hates me," Vincent replied softly. "I just need to know who wrote your paycheck this morning."
The man gritted his teeth, refusing to speak.
Vincent didn't raise his voice. He didn't threaten violence. He simply stood up, pulled his encrypted satellite phone from his pocket, and dialed a ten-digit number on speakerphone.
The line rang twice before a crisp, synthesized female voice answered. “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Chicago Field Division, Organized Crime Task Force. Agent Vance speaking.”
"Agent Vance," Vincent said smoothly, looking down at the bleeding men. "This is Vincent Moretti. I have two unauthorized trespasses and attempted abduction suspects secured at a private location on the North Side. They're carrying unregistered firearms, forged credentials, and encrypted comm-links tied to the remnants of the Board’s offshore assets."
The men on the floor went completely pale.
“Mr. Moretti,” the federal agent replied coolly. “We’ve been tracking that specific comm-frequency for weeks. Send us the GPS coordinates. Federal marshals will be at your gate in ten minutes to take custody of them.”
May you like
"They'll be waiting," Vincent said, and hung up.
He looked down at the two trembling men. "In my world, justice used to mean a shallow grave by the lake. But times change. Enjoy your federal supermax cell block, gentlemen. You'll have plenty of time to contemplate loyalty."
