Chapter 13 - Whispers in the Vault
The triumph at the gala was short-lived.
At two in the morning, their convoy of three armored Suburbans sped south down the West Side Highway under a pelting rain. Inside the middle vehicle, the atmosphere was thick with adrenaline and cold calculation.
Evelyn leaned her head back against the leather seat, kicking off her emerald heels. Her feet ached, but the fire burning in her veins was brighter than it had ever been. She turned to Lucien, who was staring out into the dark sheets of rain hitting the bulletproof glass.
“Vance was too confident,” she noted. “Even with the wiretaps, he wouldn't have brought plainclothes marshals to the Met unless he thought he had something catastrophic.”
Lucien’s phone vibrated against the console. He tapped the speaker.
“Speak,” Lucien commanded.
It was Matteo’s voice, tight and breathless, accompanied by the distinct background echo of gunfire and metal grinding against concrete.
“Boss! It’s the vault at the Hudson Rail Yards! Valenti didn't back down when Vance fell—he doubled down! They breached the perimeter with heavy ordnance! They’re inside the subterranean vault!”
Lucien’s eyes flashed with a terrifying fury. “What did they take?”
“They’re not taking money, Boss!” Matteo yelled over the crack of an automatic rifle. “They’re burning the archives! They’re using thermite grenades on the paper files from ninety-four!”
Lucien severed the call with a single vicious swipe of his thumb.
“Ninety-four?” Evelyn asked, her pulse spiking as the Suburban accelerated, tires screaming against the wet asphalt. “What happened in nineteen ninety-four, Lucien?”
Lucien did not answer immediately. He leaned forward, opening the hidden compartment beneath the armrest and pulling out two black semi-automatic pistols. He checked the chambers with brutal, practiced efficiency, handing one to Evelyn without looking at her.
“Nineteen ninety-four was the year my father died,” Lucien said, his voice flat, dead, and colder than the rain outside. “The official story was a heart attack in his sleep. But there were autopsies. Private forensics. Evidence that Marco Valenti’s father poisoned him with an untraceable chemical compound.”
Evelyn caught the heavy grip of the gun, her fingers wrapping naturally around the cold stippled handle. “And if those files burn?”
“If those files burn,” Lucien said, meeting her eyes, “the Valenti family can legally claim the ancestral seat on the Five Borough Commission. They will have legitimacy, and I will be branded an illegitimate usurper. It is an all-out war for total supremacy.”
The Suburban swerved hard, barreling through the rusted chain-link gates of the Hudson Rail Yards.
Explosions lit up the industrial skyline in blinding flashes of orange and white. Black smoke billowed into the midnight clouds. Men in tactical gear were engaged in savage firefights between abandoned railcars, muzzle flashes illuminating the rain like strobe lights.
“Stay behind me,” Lucien commanded, reaching for the door handle as the vehicle screeched to a halt behind an overturned flatbed.
Evelyn racked the slide of the pistol with a sharp, decisive *clack*.
“Not a chance, Lucien,” she said, her voice completely steady. “We rule this city together. Remember?”
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A dark, dangerous spark lit in Lucien’s eyes. He kicked the door open into the storm.
***
