Chapter 8 - The Hostage in the Storm
The world dissolved into a blur of blinding smoke, shouting men, and the cold snap of zip-ties around Camila’s wrists.
When the smoke cleared, Camila found herself tied to an iron chair inside the rain-swept clock tower overlooking the cathedral’s central courtyard. Across from her, Mia was strapped into a high-backed wooden seat, her stuffed otter lying on the floor a few feet away.
Standing before them was Donatello Corrado, his silver hair impeccably combed, a pristine wool coat draped over his shoulders, and a heavy remote detonator resting in his palm.
“A housekeeper and a child,” Donatello said smoothly, shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. “Vincent’s father ruled with an iron fist and ruthless logic. But Vincent... Vincent has always been cursed by a soft heart. He survived the mansion, he survived the lighthouse, all to throw his life away for a maid.”
“He will tear you apart with his bare hands,” Camila spat, her voice dripping with venom as she strained against the plastic ties.
Donatello laughed, a dry, rattling sound. “He won’t get the chance, my dear. Below us, in the cathedral nave, the Five Families are gathering. When Vincent walks through those doors, he will find fifty rifles pointed at his chest. And if by some miracle he survives... this little device is wired to four blocks of C-4 strapped beneath your daughter’s chair.”
Mia looked at Donatello, her small lip trembling, but she didn’t scream. She looked down at the silver compass still clutched in her tied hands. “My Papa is coming. He has the same face as the ocean man, and they are going to stop you.”
Donatello scoffed, turning toward the high arched window overlooking the cathedral below. “Let them try.”
Two blocks away, in the shadowy catacombs beneath the cathedral, Vincent felt a sudden, ice-cold dread grip his heart.
Marco ran up the stone stairs, his phone pressed to his ear, his face pale as chalk. “Boss... the perimeter car was hit. Donatello’s personal squad intercepted the SUV with military smoke. They took Camila and the little girl up into the bell tower.”
Vincent’s blood ran cold, then ignited into an inferno of pure, unadulterated fury. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. The ruthless Don that the underworld whispered about in terrified tones took complete control of his soul.
“Change of plans,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Adrian stepped up beside him, his jaw set, his eyes burning with the exact same lethal intent. “What’s the play?”
“Adrian, you walk into that nave alone as Vincent Corrado,” Vincent said, handing his brother the sealed ledgers of their mother’s proof. “You present the evidence to the Five Families. You hold their attention, you expose Donatello’s treason to the entire syndicate, and you keep their guns pointed at the floor.”
“And you?” Adrian asked.
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“I am climbing the outside of the bell tower,” Vincent replied, racking the slide of his Kimber .45. “And I am going to butcher every man who laid a hand on my family.”
***
