Chapter 7 - The Counter-Strike
The failed hit on Kane Global was the turning point in the war between Vincent Kane and Victor Moretti.
By midnight, the entire forty-second floor had been cleaned by Vincent’s specialized crew. The police never arrived—Vincent’s political connections ensured the incident was handled quietly as a "severe electrical fault and private security drill."
Sarah and Rory were moved under heavy security to Vincent’s private estate in Lake Forest—a grand, stone-walled fortress surrounded by forty acres of dense woods, protected by iron gates and twenty-four-hour armed patrols.
In the estate’s grand library, a fire crackled warmly in the fireplace. Sarah sat on a leather sofa, wrapped in a fleece blanket, sipping hot tea. Rory was already sound asleep in an adjoining bedroom, tucked into a giant king-sized bed with three silk pillows.
Vincent stepped into the library, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over a chair. He poured two fingers of scotch into a crystal tumbler.
"She’s asleep," Sarah said softly, looking up at him. "She told me before she drifted off that you were stronger than the superheroes in her comic books."
Vincent paused, looking down at his glass, a complex emotion passing over his features. "She shouldn't have to see guns and smoke, Sarah. I brought this danger near her."
"No," Sarah said firmly, setting her teacup down and standing up. "You didn't bring danger to us, Vincent. You protected us from a world that was already trying to destroy us. Before I met you, David Sterling was starving my daughter while people walked past and looked the other way. You were the only one who stopped."
Vincent looked at Sarah. For the first time, he saw not just an employee, but a woman of incredible strength—a woman who had endured grief, poverty, and terror without losing her kindness or her fierce protective instinct.
"Moretti will be handled by tomorrow evening," Vincent said softly. "After that, you and Rory will be safe. You can choose to leave Kane Global if you wish. I will provide you with a trust fund that ensures you never have to work again."
Sarah stepped closer to him, looking straight into his dark eyes. "What if I don't want to leave?"
Vincent’s gaze tightened. "Sarah... you know who I am. You know what I do. I am not a good man by society's standards."
"You are a good man to the people who matter," Sarah whispered, reaching out to gently touch his forearm. "You protected my daughter. You gave me back my dignity. I don't care what the rest of Chicago calls you."
Vincent stared at her, feeling a wall he had built around his heart for twenty years begin to crumble. He raised his hand, his large, warm fingers gently brushing a dark strand of hair away from her face.
"Stay then," Vincent whispered. "Stay with me."
The next night, Victor Moretti’s syndicate ceased to exist in Chicago.
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Vincent didn't deploy violence recklessly; he used the overwhelming weight of his financial and political influence. Within twelve hours, Moretti’s bank accounts were frozen by federal agencies tip-offed by Vincent’s legal team, his shipping licenses were revoked, and his chief lieutenants were arrested for racketeering. Moretti himself fled back to Detroit on a late-night bus, broke, powerless, and stripped of his reputation.
The district was quiet once more. The real boss of Chicago had spoken.
