Chapter 7 - The Desperate Strike of Thomas Vance
The arrest of Richard Sterling sent shockwaves through Chicago’s elite, but Dante knew the war was far from over.
Thomas Vance, the volatile patriarch of the rival syndicate, was now cornered. With his corporate mole in federal custody and his offshore accounts frozen by federal injunctions, he had lost his legal leverage.
And a cornered beast is always the most dangerous.
That evening, a heavy autumn rain lashed against the windows of the Moretti penthouse. Dante was in the tactical operations room coordinating with his security teams across the city’s ports.
I was in the kitchen preparing coffee when the lights flickered violently.
A low, mechanical hum vibrated through the floorboards.
Then, the entire penthouse plunged into pitch darkness.
Instantly, the emergency red backup lights kicked in, bathing the modern apartment in a crimson glow.
The intercom crackled to life with Marcus’s panicked voice: “Boss! Perimeter breach on the basement sub-levels! They cut the main power grid and jammed the elevator overrides! A strike team is coming up the service stairs!”
My heart leaped into my throat. The coffee cup slipped from my fingers, shattering against the tile floor.
Before I could move, Dante appeared in the hallway.
He was holding two tactical handguns, his face a mask of lethal focus. He moved toward me with blinding speed, grabbing my wrist and pulling me behind the reinforced steel door of the study.
“Harper, stay behind me,” he ordered, racking the slide of his weapon.
“Dante, the elevators—”
“They used an industrial cutter on the stairwell security gate,” he said calmly, though his eyes burned with pure fury. “Thomas Vance came himself. He knows he’s finished, so he’s trying to take down this tower with him.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the penthouse foyer were blown off their hinges with a deafening CRACK.
Smoke and debris flooded the hallway.
Men in tactical gear poured through the smoke, weapons raised.
“Moretti!” a raspy, furious voice echoed through the crimson haze. “Come out, you arrogant bastard! You took my money, you took my docks—now I’m taking your life and your little pet!”
Dante pushed me into the reinforced panic closet beneath the desk.
“Lock the inner latch, Harper,” he whispered, his voice unwavering. “No matter what you hear, do not open it until you hear my voice.”
“Dante, no! Don't go out there alone!” Tears pricked my eyes as I grabbed his sleeve.
He looked down at me, leaned in, and kissed me hard on the mouth.
“I promised you nobody would ever touch you again. I intend to keep that promise.”
May you like
He slammed the panic door shut. The heavy titanium bolts engaged with a solid thud.
And then, all hell broke loose.
