Chapter 7 - The Syndicate's Broken Code
Roman groaned, coughing up a mouthful of blood as he struggled to sit upright against the broken wooden shelving. The ceramic strike plate inside his Kevlar vest had shattered, absorbing the brunt of the bullet, but the blunt-force trauma had undoubtedly cracked several ribs.
“Touch her, Victor,” Roman wheezed, his voice raw and ragged, “and the entire DeLuca organization will hunt you to the ends of the Earth. You break the syndicate code by targeting blood relatives.”
Vance threw his head back and laughed, a cruel, barking sound that rattled the broken glass overhead. “The DeLuca organization? Don’t make me laugh, Roman! Who do you think gave me the GPS coordinates to your Cicero safehouse? Who do you think cleared the path for my men in Lake Forest?”
Roman’s gray eyes widened slightly in genuine shock. “What are you talking about?”
Vance smiled viciously, savoring every drop of venom. “Your uncle, Anthony DeLuca. He never forgave Daniel for stealing that money. And he certainly doesn’t want an uncorrupted young pup like you inheriting the throne. Anthony and I cut a deal three days ago. I get Daniel’s ledger and the six point eight million. Anthony gets complete, undisputed control of the Chicago docks. And both of you get buried beneath the frozen mud of this pathetic swamp.”
Madison looked at Roman. The betrayal in his eyes cut deeper than any bullet ever could. The empire he had bled to defend, the family name he had carried like a sacred cross, had sold him out to the highest bidder.
“You’re pathetic, Vance,” Madison said, her voice completely steady, rising slowly to her feet despite the red laser dots dancing across her forehead.
“Careful, girl,” Vance growled, raising his weapon higher. “Give me the Pelican case.”
“You want the ledger?” Madison held up the heavy leather-bound journal, holding it over an open drum of kerosene that sat next to the potting bench for the greenhouse heaters. In her other hand, hidden behind the journal, she held an old brass lighter she had scooped off the workbench. “Step back. Order your men to lower their weapons, or I drop this entire book into the fuel and spark it. Then you leave with nothing, Vance. No money. No blackmail. No leverage against Anthony DeLuca.”
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Vance’s smug smile vanished, replaced by a sudden flare of panic. “You wouldn't dare. That ledger contains the only proof that can clear your father’s name.”
“My father doesn’t need a clean name,” Madison declared, flicking open the lighter cap with a sharp, resonant metallic snap. “He saved Roman. He protected me. He is ten times the man you will ever be. Lower the guns, or we all burn together!”
