Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
Michael didn't move. His face was an emotionless mask of cold granite, but I could feel the murderous pressure radiating off him like heat from a blast furnace.
“There is no key, Regina,” I shouted from behind the marble bench, my voice trembling with rage. “I threw that jewelry box into the East River the day after Dad was buried!”
“Liar!” Regina shrieked. “The contractor swore he saw it in your apartment!”
“She’s telling the truth, Mrs. Vance,” Michael said, his voice terrifyingly calm amidst the ruins of his home. “Because I retrieved that locker key three years ago. The evidence your husband gathered is currently sitting in a vault at the Department of Justice, sealed under my family’s immunity agreement.”
Regina blinked, confusion replacing her greed. “What?”
“Thomas Vance didn't investigate me, Regina,” Michael said, stepping slowly out from behind the marble barrier, his hands visible but empty. “He was working with me to expose the corrupt officials who murdered my wife. And you just admitted on four separate audio channels to orchestrating the murder of a decorated NYPD commander.”
From the shadows behind Regina, a figure materialized like a ghost.
Lev.
He didn't make a sound. He drove the butt of a heavy shotgun into the neck of the mercenary holding the detonator, sending the man crashing unconscious to the floor. The detonator clattered harmlessly away.
Regina spun around in sheer panic, raising her pistol, but I had already moved.
Every drop of fear, every month of running through freezing rain, every bruise she had ever given me boiled over into pure, incandescent fury. I charged forward, lunging with all my weight, slamming my shoulder into Regina’s chest.
We crashed to the floor together. The pistol flew from her grip.
Regina clawed at my face, screaming profanities, her nails digging into my cheek. I grabbed her wrists, pinning her down against the broken plaster, breathing hard, looking down into the face of the monster who had destroyed my family.
“You killed my father,” I whispered through clenched teeth.
“He was weak!” Regina spat, blood on her teeth. “Just like you!”
I raised the butt of the heavy service weapon Michael had handed me, my finger hovering over the trigger. For five seconds, the urge to end her—to end the nightmare once and for all—pulsed through my blood like venom.
“Aurora.”
Michael’s voice was soft, grounding, standing right beside me. He gently rested his hand over mine, his fingers warm against the cold steel of the gun.
“Don't cross that line for someone as worthless as her,” Michael murmured. “Let the law have what’s left of her. Your father deserves that justice.”
I looked at Michael, then down at Regina’s terrified face.
May you like
I lowered the gun.
Two minutes later, sirens began wailing in the streets thirty floors below. The sound of NYPD squad cars echoed through the night air, rushing to seal off the building.
