Chapter 7 - The Trap in the Docks
The subterranean boathouse beneath Vale House smelled of salt water, diesel fuel, and damp stone. A high-speed offshore interceptor boat bobbed in the dark water, engines idling silently.
"Gabriel, get them aboard," Adrien commanded as they reached the concrete slipway. "Take them across the bay to the safehouse in Marblehead. My offshore crew is waiting there."
"What about you, Boss?" Gabriel asked, checking the magazine of his submachine gun.
"Vincent Moretti came here personally," Adrien said, pointing toward the heavy metal security monitors on the wall. The feed showed Vincent Moretti himself—a burly, graying mobster in a heavy leather coat—striding through the wreckage of the ground floor with four surviving bodyguards. "He thinks Julian's bloodline died seven years ago. If I leave now, he will hunt this boat down with everything he has. I end this tonight."
"Adrien, no!" Clare grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with terror. In the span of twenty-four hours, this intimidating, ruthless man had become their only shield, and the thought of him dying in the ruins of his home made her heart clench with unbearable agony. "Don't go back up there! Come with us!"
Adrien looked down at her hand on his arm, then met her gaze. For the first time, a genuine, warm smile touched his lips. "Vale men don't run from their debts, Clare. And Moretti owes a debt for Julian. Take care of my niece. I will see you in Marblehead."
Before Clare could argue, Gabriel pulled her and Sophie onto the boat and cast off the lines. The boat surged forward into the sea tunnel, disappearing into the dark Atlantic waters.
Adrien waited until the rumble of the boat’s engine faded. Then, he turned and walked back up the stone stairs toward the ruined mansion, his face hardening into an expression of pure, unadulterated vengeance.
He met Moretti’s men in the grand gallery.
Two of Moretti’s guards stepped into the gallery, swept their lights across the dark portraits, and were eliminated within seconds by Adrien’s precision fire from behind the marble pillars. Moretti and his final enforcer backed into the open ballroom, their guns sweeping wildly.
"Adrien!" Moretti shouted, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "Come out, little brother! You’ve run this city long enough! Where is the girl? My sources told me you brought Julian’s little bastard into this house! I finished Julian, and I’m going to wipe out the rest of his filthy bloodline tonight!"
"You talk too much, Vincent," Adrien’s voice came from the shadows above.
A flash of muzzle fire lit up the second-story balcony. Moretti’s enforcer dropped to the floor with a thud. Moretti spun, firing his shotgun upward, but Adrien had already dropped silently over the railing, landing behind him.
With a brutal strike, Adrien disarmed the older mobster, sending the shotgun skittering across the floor. He slammed Moretti against the grand piano—the very instrument Sophie had touched the night before.
Moretti gasped for air, blood trickling from his lip as Adrien’s hand clamped around his throat like an iron vice. "You... you can't kill me, Adrien... the commission... the families will go to war..."
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"The families won't know where to look," Adrien whispered coldly into Moretti's ear. "Julian wanted peace. I do not."
A single, muffled gunshot ended the seven-year blood feud. Moretti slumped over the keys, striking a discordant, heavy minor chord that vibrated through the grand piano and faded into the silent, victorious night.
