Chapter 5 - The Crack in the Armor
Vincenzo’s panic lasted only a heartbeat. Years of surviving the ruthless underworld of Chicago reasserted themselves, and his features hardened back into a smooth, arrogant mask. He chuckled, though the sound was tight and forced.
"Ah, the grief is making you imaginative, Donatelli," Vincenzo said, waving a dismissive hand as he looked at Gabriel. "You're keeping a lookalike close by to ease the pain? That’s almost pathetic, even for you."
Gabriel didn't blink. He slowly walked around the desk, his movements deliberate and terrifyingly calm. "She doesn't look like Natalie, Vincenzo. She is Natalie’s twin. Which means she shares every single drop of stubborn, dangerous blood that your brother tried to burn away."
"My brother was at a board meeting in Milwaukee the night of the accident," Vincenzo sneered, taking a step backward toward his guards. "The police report called it a tragedy. Leave it alone, Gabriel, unless you want another funeral on your hands."
"The police report is fiction," I snapped, stepping closer to Vincenzo. "Just like the story about the hydroplaning. My sister didn't lose control of her car. Someone cut her brake lines and forced her off the asphalt."
Vincenzo’s eyes flickered toward me with a flash of genuine contempt. "Listen to me, little girl. You fly back to whatever sleepy little town in Seattle you crawled out of. You don't belong in Chicago. You don't belong in this war. If you keep poking around in things you don't understand, you won't just find a grave—you'll fill it."
Before Vincenzo could finish his threat, Gabriel moved.
It was blindingly fast. In less than a second, Gabriel closed the distance, grabbed Vincenzo by the lapels of his designer suit, and slammed him against the glass bookcase with enough force to shatter three shelves of antique volumes.
Vincenzo’s guards instantly drew their weapons, but Franco and two other Duca security operatives had their submachine guns leveled at the guards' chests before their guns cleared their holsters.
"Drop them," Franco whispered, his voice like grinding ice.
The guards froze, their weapons hovering uselessly.
Gabriel leaned his face inches from Vincenzo’s terrified expression, his voice dropping into a register so cold it made my blood run backward.
"You stepped foot in my house. You threatened my guest. And you admitted that you know exactly what happened on Lake Shore Drive," Gabriel hissed. "Tell me one reason why I shouldn't throw you off this balcony into the freezing lake right now."
Vincenzo gasped for air, his hands clawing uselessly at Gabriel’s wrists. "Dante... Dante has the originals! The flash drive! If I don't call him in ten minutes, it goes to the FBI!"
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Gabriel didn't loosen his grip. "What flash drive?"
"The photos your fiancée took!" Vincenzo choked out. "The ones proving our money laundering through the port authority! Dante has them in his safe at the warehouse on 4th Street!"
