Chapter 9 - BLOOD ON THE MARBLE
"You arranged the adoption," I said, stepping between Vance and Damian, my voice ringing with a cold, clear fury I didn't know I possessed. "You looked me in the eye in that office in Trenton. You told me their mother died in childbirth. You gave me their birth certificates and promised me they were safe."
Vance offered a tight, patronizing smile, adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles with the knuckle of his free hand. "And you provided an impeccable cover, Mrs. Howard. A grieving widow with an unblemished background. The perfect vault to hide Marcus’s inconvenient little bastards until Dominic could consolidate his control of the board."
"Marcus trusted you," Damian said through gritted teeth, his breath rattling against his broken ribs.
"Marcus was an idealist," Vance sneered, his tone dropping its polite veneer. "Idealists don't last long in the logistics corridor, Damian. They get in the way of quarterly dividends. When Marcus took those files from Berth 42, he broke the fundamental rule of our business: you never look inside the containers. You just take the bill of lading and clear the customs stamp."
"And David?" I demanded, tears of rage burning behind my eyelids. "My husband! You had him killed!"
"David was getting sentimental," Vance said coldly. "He started calling me from burner phones, threatening to go to the US Attorney if we didn't grant your family full immunity and a permanent exit from the territory. He forgot his place. Just like Marcus."
Vance gestured with the pistol toward the Pelican case sitting between us. "Pick it up, Mrs. Howard. Hand it to my associate. And perhaps I'll let you spend your final forty-eight hours saying goodbye to your little girls before they're placed in an overseas boarding facility where they will never be heard from again."
"Over my dead body," Damian said.
"That can be arranged immediately, nephew," Vance said, his finger tightening on the trigger.
He never finished the squeeze.
From the shadows behind the Corinthian columns outside the crypt, the deafening roar of a twelve-gauge shotgun shattered the graveyard silence.
The heavy buckshot blasted through the doorway, catching Vance's lead security guard squarely in the shoulder and throwing him violently against the bronze doorframe.
Frank stepped into the moonlight, racking the slide of his Remington with a thunderous clack-clack.
"I told you, Damian!" Frank bellowed, his gravelly voice echoing through the marble halls. "Never trust a lawyer with clean shoes!"
The second guard swung his rifle toward Frank, but Damian had already moved.
Ignoring the agonizing pain in his shattered ribs, Damian lunged across the floor, driving his entire shoulder into Vance’s waist. Both men slammed against the base of Salvatore’s sarcophagus, the pistol discharging with a sharp pfft into the vaulted ceiling.
The third guard brought his weapon up, aiming directly at Damian’s exposed back.
I didn't think. The iron crowbar was still in my hands.
With all the desperate, protective fury of a mother fighting for her children’s lives, I swung the heavy steel bar like a baseball bat, striking the guard across the side of his knee with a sickening crack.
The man screamed, his leg collapsing under him as his rifle clattered across the marble floor.
Damian pinned Vance against the stone, his fingers clamped around the lawyer’s throat, his knee pressed directly into the man’s solar plexus. The silver-plated .38 from Sal’s hidden vault was now pressed firmly beneath Vance’s chin.
"Give me one reason," Damian hissed, his face inches from Vance's terrified eyes. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't leave you in this crypt with my father."
"The... the board meeting," Vance choked out, his hands clawing at Damian’s iron wrist. "Dominic... Dominic has the proxy votes! Even with the drives, you can't get into the building! The private security... they have orders to shoot on sight!"
"Who holds the swing vote on the board?" Damian demanded, pressing the barrel harder into Vance’s jaw. "Tell me!"
"Santino!" Vance wheezed. "Judge Santino! He holds the judicial trusteeship for the minor shares! If he votes with Dominic at eight a.m., the liquidation becomes binding law!"
Damian stared down at the trembling lawyer for three long seconds. Then, with a cold, disgusted grunt, he brought the butt of the revolver down against Vance's temple, knocking him instantly unconscious onto the cold stone.
Frank limped into the crypt, kicking the guards' scattered weapons into the shadows. "The car is running at the gate. We have three hours before the sun comes up, Damian. What's the play?"
May you like
Damian picked up the Pelican case, his eyes turning to me.
"We don't hide anymore," Damian said. "We get the girls, we put on our best suits, and we attend a board meeting."
