Chapter 5 - The mountain fortress
The convoy of black luxury SUVs tore through the winding, snow-covered mountain roads. The cinematic transition from the dark, rainy city to the pristine, isolating snow of the mountains was jarring. The Blackwood Point Academy sat like a modern fortress at the peak of the ridge. It was an elite institution, surrounded by high iron fences, security cameras, and armed private guards. It catered only to the ultra-wealthy, promising absolute privacy and world-class education for the heirs of billionaires.
Frank sat in the back of the lead vehicle. Beside him sat Vivienne, her hands bound with heavy plastic ties. She was shivering, not from the cold, but from the terrifying reality of her situation. She had tried to play a game of chess with a man who simply flipped the board.
You can't breach this campus, Vivienne said, trying to regain her composure, her fair skin glowing in the dashboard lights. They have a tactical security team. The perimeter is alarmed. If you force your way in, the local police will be here in ten minutes.
I didn't survive fifty years in the underworld by kicking down front doors, Frank replied, his voice completely calm. He checked his heavy, old-school silver watch.
The SUVs turned off their headlights, driving entirely in the dark, guided only by night-vision equipment. They pulled off the main road, parking in a dense thicket of pine trees a mile away from the main gate.
Marco opened the door, the freezing winter air rushing into the warm cabin. He handed Frank a heavy, dark winter overcoat. Boss. The underground service tunnels are clear. The academy uses them to transport heating oil. The security system doesn't monitor the subterranean levels.
Frank stepped out into the snow, putting the heavy coat on over his dark suit. He grabbed his wooden cane. Bring her, he ordered.
Two of Frank’s massive men pulled Vivienne from the SUV. They marched her through the freezing snow toward a rusted metal grate hidden beneath a layer of dead brush. Marco effortlessly lifted the heavy iron grate, revealing a dark, concrete tunnel sloping downward into the earth.
They moved quickly and silently. Frank led the way, his cane tapping quietly against the damp concrete. Despite his age, he moved with a rugged, athletic endurance that put younger men to shame. He was driven by a singular, burning purpose.
They reached the end of the tunnel, stopping before a heavy steel security door. A digital keypad glowed softly in the dark.
Open it, Frank said, pushing Vivienne forward.
Vivienne hesitated. If I open this, you have everything. What guarantee do I have that you won't put a bullet in my head the second the door unlocks?
My word, Frank said simply. A commodity worth far more than anything you have ever possessed.
Vivienne looked into his battle-hardened eyes. She saw no deception, only an absolute, unbreakable code of honor. With trembling hands, she leaned forward and pressed her eye to the retinal scanner above the keypad. A green laser swept across her pupil.
Access granted, a robotic voice whispered.
The heavy steel door clicked and swung open.
They stepped into the academy’s hidden server room. It was surprisingly massive, filled with rows of humming black towers and blinking blue lights. This was the brain of Vivienne’s illegal operation, holding the secrets of the most powerful people in the country.
Disable the dead man's switch, Frank ordered, pointing to a master terminal in the center of the room. And pull up the file on my grandson.
Vivienne walked to the terminal. Her manicured fingers flew across the keyboard. She inputted a series of complex passwords. The massive countdown clock on the main screen, which had only twenty minutes left, suddenly stopped and vanished.
The federal alert is disabled, Vivienne said quietly, keeping her back to Frank.
Now the file.
Vivienne hesitated. Her eyes darted toward a secondary keyboard on her left. It was an emergency purge protocol. If she pressed it, the entire server would fry itself with a localized electromagnetic pulse. She would lose all her leverage, but Frank would lose his grandson forever.
Don't even think about it, Frank warned, sensing the shift in her posture. He stepped closer, his massive presence suffocating her.
Vivienne’s hands shook. She pressed the final key. A high-resolution photograph appeared on the large monitor.
Frank stopped breathing. He stared at the screen.
It was a picture of a twelve-year-old boy sitting in a library reading a thick, leather-bound book. The boy had dark, intelligent eyes—Isabella’s eyes. He had the same strong jawline that Frank saw in the mirror every morning. The boy wore a perfectly tailored prep school uniform. He looked intense, serious, and undeniably powerful, even at such a young age.
His name is Leo, Vivienne whispered, her voice devoid of its usual arrogance.
Who adopted him? Frank demanded, his voice thick with emotion.
Vivienne looked at the screen, a sick, terrifying realization washing over her face. She turned to Frank, her eyes wide with genuine panic.
Frank... I didn't know. I swear to god I didn't know until right now.
What are you talking about? Frank grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around to face the screen. Look at the adoptive family! Give me the name!
Vivienne pointed a trembling finger at the name listed under the adoptive parents.
The buyer was listed as Richard Vance.
Frank’s blood ran completely cold. The cinematic blue light of the server room cast harsh shadows across his rugged face. Richard Vance wasn't a tech billionaire. He wasn't a politician.
Richard Vance was the head of the Chicago Syndicate. He was a ruthless, bloodthirsty cartel boss, and the only man Frank DeLuca had ever failed to kill during the mob wars thirty years ago.
Vance didn't buy the boy to raise a son, Vivienne said, her voice cracking with terror. He bought the boy because he knew he was your blood. He’s raising your grandson to be a weapon against your own legacy.
Before Frank could process the magnitude of the betrayal, a deafening explosion rocked the foundation of the school. The server room violently shook, dust and concrete falling from the ceiling. The heavy steel door they had used to enter was suddenly blown off its hinges.
Through the thick smoke and debris, a dozen men dressed in tactical black gear stepped into the room, their weapons raised. They weren't police. They weren't school security. They were syndicate soldiers.
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And standing behind them, wearing an expensive camel-hair coat over a tailored suit, was Richard Vance. He smiled, a cold, empty expression that matched the deadness in his eyes.
Hello, Frank, Vance said smoothly, his voice carrying over the ringing silence. It’s been a long time. I hear you're looking for my son.
