Chapter 4 - The Debt Collection
The underground wine cellar of the Vance estate was a labyrinth of stone arches and dust-covered racks holding thousands of vintage bottles. It was cool and dark, the concrete walls damp from the proximity to Lake Michigan. Mara carried Elena to the furthest corner, hiding behind a massive oak barrel that held thousands of liters of aging cabernet.
She checked Elena’s respiratory rate. The little girl was wheezing, her oxygen cannula still connected to the small portable tank Mara had grabbed, but the stress was causing her pulmonary fibrosis to flare. Her lips had a dangerous, blueish tint.
"Stay calm, Elena," Mara murmured, placing her hand on the girl's chest to guide her breathing. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like a balloon."
Above them, the heavy steel security door of the cellar groaned as it was blown open by an explosive charge. Heavy, tactical boots echoed down the stone steps.
"Find them," a cold, smooth voice commanded from the entrance. It wasn't the voice of a common street soldier. It was Marcus Moretti, the younger brother of the Moretti syndicate boss—the man who had planned the original hit in the rain. "The girl’s vitals can't survive without her main equipment anyway. Just smash the tanks and let the air do the work."
Mara held her breath, her hand pressing gently over Elena’s mouth to muffle any sound. The footsteps grew closer, the beams of tactical flashlights cutting through the dark rows of wine racks, illuminating the dust motes in the air like tiny, floating ghosts.
"Marcus," a low, resonant voice boomed from the stairs.
The footsteps stopped. The flashlights turned toward the entrance.
Dominic Vance stood at the bottom of the steps. He was completely alone, but he didn't need an army. He wore no tactical gear—just his dark suit, now stained with mud and blood at the cuffs. In his right hand, he held a heavy, customized silver revolver. His face was entirely devoid of emotion, a mask of pure, unmitigated death.
"Dominic," Marcus Moretti sneered, his men shifting their weapons to point at the boss. "You walked right into the vault. Your outer perimeter is gone. You’re finished in Chicago."
"You think I care about the perimeter, Marcus?" Dominic said, his voice quiet, yet it echoed through the stone cellar like a funeral knell. "You came into my home. You broke the glass my wife chose. You made my daughter hide in the dark."
"Kill him," Marcus ordered.
Before the guards could pull their triggers, the stone walls of the cellar seemed to explode. Hidden panels behind the wine racks slid open, and Valeria, followed by a dozen elite Vance enforcers, emerged with suppressed weapons. The crossfire was instantaneous and absolute. Within four seconds, Marcus Moretti’s guards were on the floor, the stone tiles slick with dark, reflective pools of crimson.
Marcus Moretti fell to his knees, a bullet through his shoulder, his weapon gone. He looked up at Dominic with wide, terrified eyes as the boss walked over to him, his boots clicking softly on the wet stone.
Dominic didn't say a word. He didn't deliver a villainous speech. He simply raised the silver revolver, pointed it between Marcus’s eyes, and pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.
Dominic turned his head toward the dark corner behind the oak barrel. "Mara. Elena. You can come out now."
Mara stood up slowly, her body aching, her arms tired from holding the girl. She stepped out into the light of the flashlights, her eyes passing over the bodies on the floor without blinking. She had seen death before in the ER, but never this calculated, never this cold.
Dominic walked to her, his long arms reaching out to take his daughter from her embrace. Elena immediately buried her face in her father's neck, sobbing quietly. Dominic looked at Mara, his slate-grey eyes containing a profound, intense depth of emotion that no one else in his empire would ever see.
"You saved her again," Dominic said, his voice trembling slightly. "With your bare hands this time."
"She needed air," Mara said simply, her strength finally failing her as her knees buckled.
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Dominic caught her before she hit the stone floor, lifting her into his arms beside his daughter. He looked at Valeria, his face hardening once more into the expression of the man who ruled the city.
"Call the cleaner," Dominic ordered. "And tell the captains to prepare the cars. We are going to the Moretti compound tonight. I want this family erased before the sun comes up."
