Chapter 7 - The Ambush at LaSalle
We had no choice but to follow Vincent’s protocol. He refused to let us cancel the court appearance entirely, arguing that skipping it would reveal that we knew about the ambush, pushing the Detroit faction to resort to desperate, chaotic measures in public spaces. Instead, Vincent orchestrated a masterclass in counter-surveillance.
A decoy convoy of three black Escalades pulled away from the Drake Hotel’s main entrance, siren lights flashing, drawing away the obvious spotters parked along Michigan Avenue. Meanwhile, Vincent, Emma, Lily, and I slipped out through the hotel’s subterranean service tunnels, entering an unmarked, heavily armored Mercedes sedan driven by Marco.
Lily sat between Vincent and me in the reinforced backseat, wearing high-end noise-canceling headphones, playing a cartoon on an iPad. Vincent spent the entire drive checking the magazine of his sidearm, his eyes scanning every rooftop, alley, and intersection with lethal precision.
""We take the underground parking bay beneath the Daley Center,"" Marco reported over his shoulder. ""Courthouse security has been fully supplemented by our private tactical unit. Once the judge stamps the probate deed, we escort Mrs. Moretti and the child directly to the executive helipad on top of the Moretti Tower.""
""Good,"" Vincent grunted. He reached across the leather seat, his large, scarred hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before finding mine. His fingers laced through mine, warm and steady. ""I won't let anything happen to you, Claire. Trust me. Just this once.""
I looked down at our joined hands. The familiarity was overwhelming. ""I trust you to protect her, Vincent. That was never what I doubted.""
As our sedan turned down the concrete ramp leading into the subterranean garage of the civic center, the world exploded.
A massive sanitation truck barreled from the blind corner of the lower level, smashing violently into the front quarter-panel of our Mercedes. Metal screeched against metal as the impact spun our car 180 degrees, sending us crashing into a reinforced concrete pillar. The heavy bulletproof glass cracked into spiderweb patterns, but held.
""Ambush!"" Marco roared, drawing his weapon as automatic gunfire began riddling the exterior of the armored vehicle like a drumroll of thunder.
Lily screamed, the violence penetrating through her headphones.
Instinct took over. Vincent threw his entire body over Lily and me, acting as a human shield against the raining barrage of bullets. His massive frame completely eclipsed us, his muscles tensing with every concussive thud of heavy rounds slamming into the vehicle's reinforced doors.
""Stay down!"" Vincent commanded in a calm, deadly voice that sent shivers down my spine. ""Claire, hold Lily against the floorboards!""
""Vincent, your shoulder!"" I cried, seeing a line of red soaking through his dark suit jacket where a ricocheting piece of shrapnel had torn through the seam.
""It’s nothing,"" he growled, pulling a secondary weapon from his ankle holster. He turned to Marco. ""How many?""
""Six shooters, heavy rifles, blocking the exit ramp!"" Marco shouted back, firing through a specialized gun port in the driver's door. ""They cut the courthouse gate controls!""
Through the cracked window, I saw men in tactical vests moving toward our car, their rifles raised to finish us off. At the head of the squad was a man with a jagged scar across his throat—Marcus Vance.
""Moretti!"" Marcus's voice echoed through the concrete cavern of the parking garage, dripping with venomous triumph. ""Come out and watch your little actress and your bastard daughter bleed for what you did to my family!""
May you like
Vincent’s eyes turned into absolute obsidian. The civilized billionaire evaporated; the monster of Chicago took his place. He leaned down, his forehead pressing against mine for a fleeting, intense second.
""Close her eyes, Claire,"" he whispered with chilling calmness. ""I’m going to end this war once and for all.""
