Chapter 7 - PREPARATION FOR WAR
Saturday night was quiet.
Inside the master suite of the Moretti estate, Vincent stood before his floor-to-ceiling mirror. For the first time in seven years, he took down a heavy velvet box from the top of his closet.
He opened it. Inside lay a pair of customized chrome .45 caliber pistols, their handgrips inlaid with dark walnut wood.
He picked them up, checking the actions with practiced, fluid movements. The metal was oiled, cold, and deadly.
Aldo Rinaldi walked into the suite, holding a folder containing the intelligence report from Westbury.
“Lucchesi bought Dante’s plan,” Aldo reported quietly. “They are sending twelve armed men through the North Gate tomorrow at midnight during the blizzard. Dante believes he’s going to take your chair.”
Vincent reinserted the magazine into the weapon with a sharp click.
“Dante is a fool,” Vincent said flatly. “Carmine Lucchesi will put a bullet in Dante’s back the moment I am dead. My brother’s stupidity threatens everything my father built.”
“What are your orders, Vince?” Aldo asked. “Should we notify the local precinct? Set up a perimeter?”
“No,” Vincent replied coldly. “If we call the police, Lucchesi retreats into the shadows and tries again next month. We end this tomorrow night. Permanently.”
He turned to face Aldo. “Where are Clara and Ellie?”
“They are asleep in the staff wing,” Aldo said. “I can have two guards escort them to a safe house in Manhattan before sunset tomorrow.”
Vincent stayed silent for a moment, thinking of Ellie’s innocent laughter in the flour-dusted kitchen, and Clara’s gentle grey eyes. Moving them to Manhattan was the logical decision. It was safe.
Yet the thought of sending them away made a cold hollow open in his chest.
“No,” Vincent corrected softly. “If Lucchesi has spotters on the road, moving them will draw attention. Put them in the subterranean vault beneath the wine cellar. It’s reinforced steel, climate-controlled, and completely soundproof. They will be safe there until I clear the house.”
Aldo nodded. “Understood.”
Vincent walked to the window, looking out into the falling snow. He slipped one of the coins—Sofia’s final gold coin—between his fingers, turning it over and over.
May you like
Ellie still had her third wish.
He wondered what a three-year-old girl would ask for when the world outside was burning.
