Chapter 8 - The Price of Survival
The rain had returned by the time twilight fell over the Blue Bell Private Executive Airfield, forty miles north of the city. A twin-engine Gulfstream sat on the tarmac, its turbine engines whining loudly as the ground crew rushed to disconnect the fuel hoses.
Julian Vance, thirty-four years old, clad in a designer cashmere turtleneck and gripping a leather briefcase containing ten million dollars in bearer bonds and bearer stock certificates, paced nervously at the foot of the mobile boarding stairs.
""What do you mean the pilot isn't cleared for takeoff?"" Julian screamed into his satellite phone, glaring at the runway lights. ""I paid double the standard charter fee! Get this damn bird in the air right now!""
""I'm afraid your flight has been canceled, Julian.""
A voice emerged from the mist-shrouded hangar behind him.
Julian spun around, dropping his phone onto the wet asphalt.
Dominic Vale stepped out of the darkness alone. He wore his customary black overcoat, hands casually tucked into his pockets, stepping through the rain puddles with steady, unhurried steps. Behind him, the airfield perimeter gates were completely blocked by three black SUVs, their headlights cutting through the gloom like the eyes of hungry wolves.
""Vale,"" Julian squeaked, his voice cracking with terror. He reached inside his coat for his compact pistol, but before his fingers could even touch the grip, a single laser dot appeared squarely on his forehead.
From the roof of the hangar, Marcus Reed stood steady behind a long-range tactical rifle.
""Don't do it, Julian,"" Dominic said mildly, stopping five paces away. ""Your father raised you with expensive tastes, but he forgot to give you common sense. You thought you could send street hitmen to ambush my wife in broad daylight and simply fly away to the Caribbean?""
""It wasn't my idea!"" Julian shrieked, backing up against the metal stairs of the jet, his knees knocking together in sheer panic. ""It was my father! He set up the shell companies! He ordered the hit on Pier Twelve eighteen months ago because you refused to let us use your shipping containers to smuggle stolen antiquities and counterfeit pharmaceuticals! I just executed the wire transfers!""
""Your wire transfers paid for the bullet that tore through my wife’s back,"" Dominic said, his voice dropping into a register so dark and lethal that the ground crew members nearby immediately dropped their equipment and fled into the hangars. ""Your wire transfers caused her two years of agony. Every morning she woke up in pain because of your greed.""
""I have money!"" Julian pleaded, throwing the leather briefcase onto the ground between them. The latches popped open, spilling stacks of hundred-dollar bills and bond certificates into the muddy water. ""Take it! Take all of it! It’s twelve million! Just let me board the plane! I will never come back to the United States! You'll never see my face again!""
Dominic looked down at the money. Slowly, he lifted his heavy boot and crushed the leather briefcase into the sludge, grinding the wet paper into the dirt.
""You think this garbage is worth a single tear my wife shed?"" Dominic asked softly.
He stepped forward. Julian tried to scream, but Dominic’s hand clamped around the younger man's throat like a hydraulic vise, cutting off the air in a wet choke. Dominic lifted Julian off his feet, turning him around, and slammed him face-first into the cold aluminum fuselage of the multimillion-dollar jet.
""You are going to federal prison, Julian,"" Dominic whispered into his ear, his grip tightening until Julian's eyes bulged with terror. ""You and your father will share adjacent cells in a maximum-security penitentiary for the next thirty-five years. And every single guard, every warden, and every inmate who walks past your door will be on my payroll. You will spend every waking second of your miserable life wondering if today is the day I decide you've lived long enough.""
Dominic threw Julian to the wet ground. The younger man curled into a fetal position, sobbing hysterically into the muddy puddle, completely broken.
Federal marshals, alerted thirty minutes prior by Marcus's encrypted dispatch, came swarming onto the tarmac, weapons drawn, taking custody of the weeping heir.
Dominic turned his back on the scene, stepping toward his vehicle. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the single number that mattered.
The line connected on the first ring.
""Dominic?"" Claire’s soft, anxious voice came through the receiver.
May you like
The ice in Dominic’s chest instantly melted away. The deadly gangster vanished, replaced entirely by a man who was hopelessly, desperately in love.
""It’s over, Claire,"" Dominic murmured softly, climbing into the warmth of the SUV. ""The Vance family will never hurt anyone again. I’m coming home."""
