Chapter 6 - The winter chase
The mansion was completely locked down. The golden holiday lights were shut off, replaced by the harsh glare of security floodlights illuminating the snowy grounds. Heavily armed guards patrolled the perimeter. Inside, the cinematic Christmas decorations felt hollow and terrifying.
Damian sat in the library, Holly fast asleep on the leather sofa, wrapped in a thick wool blanket. Marcus stood by the window, loading a fresh magazine into his rifle.
Martha is singing like a bird in the basement, Marcus reported, his American accent low and gritty. Vivienne didn't just escape. She used the snowmobile to reach a secondary extraction point. A black SUV picked her up on the highway. We lost them in the city traffic.
Damian stared into the roaring fireplace. The flames reflected in his dark, intense eyes. She's going to the Chicago syndicate's safe house. She thinks she's untouchable now.
What's the play, boss? Marcus asked.
We don't wait for them to strike, Damian said, standing up. He checked the luxury wristwatch on his arm, a stark contrast to the tactical vest he was strapping over his black dress shirt. We take the fight to them. Tonight.
Leaving a dozen of his best men to guard Holly, Damian and Marcus led a strike team in three unmarked black SUVs. They tore through the snowy, icy roads toward the city center. The cinematic beauty of the winter night blurred past the windows, replaced by the grim reality of the criminal underworld.
Martha had given them the address—a luxury high-rise penthouse owned by a shell corporation. Damian’s vehicles pulled into the underground parking garage, tires screeching against the concrete.
They moved like ghosts. Athletic, deeply masculine, and lethally efficient. They bypassed the building's security and rode the freight elevator to the top floor. Damian kicked the heavy double doors of the penthouse open, splintering the wood.
The room was lavishly decorated, much like his own home, but it was empty. Papers were scattered across a glass dining table. Half-empty glasses of champagne sat on the counter. They had just missed them.
Marcus picked up a heavily redacted document from the table. Damian, look at this.
Damian walked over. The document was a contract. It outlined a hostile takeover of all Romano family assets, signed by the head of the Chicago syndicate. But at the bottom, there was an addendum. A life insurance policy payout for Elena Romano, claimed entirely by Vivienne through a forged proxy.
She didn't just kill my wife for the syndicate, Damian whispered, his voice laced with pure, unadulterated rage. She killed her for the money. To fund this entire war.
Suddenly, a massive flat-screen television on the penthouse wall clicked on. The screen flickered, revealing Vivienne sitting in a dimly lit, luxurious room, sipping from a crystal champagne flute.
You’re always one step behind, Damian, Vivienne said through the speakers, her condescending tone echoing in the empty penthouse.
May you like
Damian stepped closer to the screen, his face a mask of cold fury. Enjoy the champagne, Vivienne. It’s the last drink you’ll ever have.
I highly doubt that, she smiled viciously. Because while you are standing in my empty apartment, my men are walking through the front gates of your mansion. Merry Christmas, Damian.
