Chapter 8 - The Night Chicago Burned
Vincent wanted me nowhere near Chicago.
Naturally, I went.
Not because I believed I was invincible.
Because Sophia had sent me something before disappearing.
A scheduled email.
If I vanish, check the old Hayes house.
The property still existed in Oak Park.
Empty for years.
Vincent knew about it.
Dominic knew about it.
But neither knew Sophia had sent me the message.
I called Matteo instead of Vincent.
“That is a terrible idea,” Matteo said.
“Probably.”
“Boss will kill me.”
“Only if we survive.”
“That does not improve the argument.”
We compromised.
Again.
Apparently everyone around Vincent had learned the word.
I would remain in an armored vehicle three blocks away while Matteo’s team entered the Hayes property.
Vincent found out before we reached Chicago.
My phone rang.
I answered.
“You are six months pregnant.”
“Twenty-four weeks.”
“That is not a defense.”
“I’m not going inside.”
“You shouldn’t be in Illinois.”
“I have information.”
“So send it.”
“Matteo has it.”
Silence.
Then, dangerously, “Matteo is with you?”
Matteo stared straight ahead from the passenger seat.
I almost felt sorry for him.
“Yes.”
“I’m firing him.”
“He said you would.”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“Vincent, Sophia helped save me. I’m not sitting in Connecticut while Dominic kills her.”
His voice lowered.
“You think I am?”
“Then stop wasting time arguing with me.”
He hung up.
Matteo exhaled.
“I preferred you when the marriage was secret.”
I laughed.
At 8:40 p.m., Matteo’s men entered the Hayes property.
Empty.
But in the basement, they found blood.
Not much.
Enough to prove someone had been there.
Then they found a phone.
Sophia’s.
One unsent draft message.
Pier 19.
Vincent called immediately.
“I know.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“Dominic wants you involved. Why do you think he left the phone?”
I stopped.
He was right.
Pier 19 was a Moretti shipping facility.
Dominic knew Vincent would recognize it.
A trap.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving him what he wants.”
My blood went cold.
“Absolutely not.”
“He wants me.”
“He wants you dead.”
“Yes.”
“And our daughter too.”
Silence.
“I know.”
“Then don’t act like a man who has nothing to lose.”
His breathing changed.
That sentence reached him.
Finally he said, “I have a plan.”
Plans made by Mafia bosses rarely comfort pregnant women.
Still, I listened.
Pier 19 had been quietly evacuated.
Federal authorities were already monitoring Moretti shipping operations because of the documents Dominic leaked.
Vincent intended to draw Dominic into revealing himself while law enforcement watched.
Not because Vincent suddenly trusted the FBI.
Because public evidence limited Dominic’s ability to disappear behind family loyalty.
At 10:15 p.m., Vincent entered Pier 19.
Alone.
At least visibly.
Sophia was tied to a chair inside the warehouse.
Dominic stood beside her.
I watched through a live security feed inside Matteo’s command vehicle.
Dominic Russo looked nothing like a villain.
That was the disturbing part.
Tailored coat.
Graying hair.
Gentle face.
The man who had brought wine to Christmas dinner.
“Vincent,” he said.
“Dominic.”
“You brought the police?”
“No.”
Technically true.
They were already there.
Dominic smiled.
“You always were your father’s son.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“My father trusted yours.”
“And look where that got him.”
Sophia struggled against the restraints.
Dominic placed a hand on her shoulder.
Vincent’s eyes went cold.
“Let her go.”
“She’s a traitor.”
“She’s a grieving woman you manipulated.”
Dominic laughed.
“You sound like Claire.”
Hearing my name made my stomach tighten.
“She made you weak.”
“No.”
Vincent took another step.
“She taught me weakness and love aren’t the same thing.”
I stopped breathing.
Dominic’s smile disappeared.
“You gave up half your leverage for a woman who filed for divorce.”
“Yes.”
“Pathetic.”
“Maybe.”
Vincent spread his hands.
“But I’m still standing here.”
Dominic removed a gun.
Sophia screamed.
Everything happened quickly.
Vincent moved sideways.
A shot cracked.
Then another.
Lights went out.
Matteo’s team entered.
Police vehicles surged toward the pier.
I lost the feed.
For thirty seconds, the screen remained black.
Longest thirty seconds of my life.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Claire?”
Sophia.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”
My blood turned to ice.
Then gunfire erupted through the phone.
The line died.
I opened the vehicle door.
Matteo’s driver caught my arm.
“Mrs. Moretti—”
“Let go.”
“We have orders.”
“I do not care.”
Sirens screamed near the pier.
Smoke rose above the warehouse.
Then I saw someone emerging from the darkness.
Vincent.
He was walking.
For three steps.
Then he fell.
I don’t remember leaving the vehicle.
I remember running.
Someone shouted.
I remember dropping beside him on wet concrete.
Blood covered his shirt near his shoulder.
“Vincent.”
His eyes opened.
“Claire?”
“I’m here.”
“What are you doing here?”
Even half-conscious, he found time to be angry.
I laughed and cried simultaneously.
“You can yell at me later.”
His hand moved weakly toward my stomach.
“The baby?”
“She’s fine.”
He exhaled.
“Good.”
Paramedics arrived.
Dominic had been captured alive.
Sophia was injured but stable.
Vincent had taken a bullet through the upper shoulder.
Painful.
Not fatal.
At the hospital, I sat beside his bed while surgeons removed fragments.
By morning, the story had exploded across Chicago news.
A corporate executive involved in an internal criminal conspiracy.
Warehouses.
Money laundering.
Attempted kidnapping.
Federal arrests.
Dominic could no longer hide.
Neither could the Moretti organization.
Vincent faced investigations of his own.
He knew that.
So did I.
When he woke after surgery, I was still there.
His eyes found me immediately.
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“You should rest.”
“You were shot.”
“Not seriously.”
“You passed out.”
“Temporary.”
I stared at him.
“You are impossible.”
He smiled faintly.
“Still divorcing me?”
I looked at him.
“Possibly.”
His smile disappeared.
I leaned closer.
“But not today.”
Something warm returned to his eyes.
Then he whispered, “Fair.”
Dominic’s arrest produced everything we needed.
Evidence tying Carlo Russo to Isabella’s murder.
Proof Dominic continued his father’s financial theft.
Records showing he had manipulated Marcus Vale.
Payments linking him to the men who tried to take me.
And communications proving he intended to eliminate Vincent before our daughter was born.
Sophia agreed to testify.
So did several accountants.
The Moretti empire did not survive unchanged.
It couldn’t.
Vincent began dismantling illegal operations.
Some assets were sold.
Some surrendered.
Some investigated.
There were lawyers everywhere.
Government agents.
Board meetings.
Threats from former allies.
But Vincent did something I never expected.
He cooperated.
Not because he had become innocent.
Because he finally understood he could not raise a daughter inside the same world that had killed Isabella and nearly destroyed us.
One night, sitting beside his hospital bed, I asked him, “What happens if walking away costs you everything?”
He looked toward the window.
“Then I lose everything.”
“And if men come after you?”
“They already do.”
“Vincent.”
He turned toward me.
“I spent my whole life building power so nobody could take anything from me.”
His eyes moved to my stomach.
“Then I almost lost the only two things that mattered because of what that power turned me into.”
I swallowed.
He reached for my hand.
Stopped before touching.
I closed the distance myself.
May you like
Our fingers intertwined.
For the first time, neither of us was hiding.
