Chapter 11 - The Sterling Stronghold
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The clock on the dashboard of our armored limousine showed three in the morning as we approached the glistening glass needle of the Sterling Tower.
The fifty-story skyscraper in the heart of downtown Chicago was the nerve center of Arthur Sterling's corrupt financial empire.
High on the top floor, the penthouse lights were blazing brightly against the storm-swept darkness of Lake Michigan.
Arthur Sterling knew his mercenary strike had failed; our surveillance teams reported that his private helicopter was currently warming up on the rooftop helipad.
"He's preparing to flee to a non-extradition country in Eastern Europe," Dante reported from the front seat, tapping away at a military-grade tablet.
"His offshore accounts are actively transferring hundreds of millions of dollars to shell companies in Zurich."
Luca sat across from me, casually checking the action on a heavy submachine gun resting across his lap.
"He isn't going to make it to the helipad," Luca stated with absolute, chilling certainty.
"Gianna, this is your last chance to wait in the vehicle."
"Arthur Sterling is a cornered rat, and cornered rats bite before they die."
I adjusted the collar of the tailored black wool coat Luca's men had brought for me, feeling the cool weight of my handgun inside the pocket.
"He murdered our mother in cold blood, Luca," I replied, looking him directly in the eyes without a trace of fear.
"He stole my entire childhood and left me to grow up as an abandoned orphan."
"I am going up to that penthouse with you, and I am going to watch the monster look me in the eye when his world burns."
Luca looked at me for a long moment, a proud, lethal smile spreading across his dark features.
"That's my sister," he whispered.
Our convoy smashed directly through the reinforced security barriers of the Sterling Tower underground garage.
Thirty elite Moretti enforcers poured out of the vehicles, neutralizing the private lobby security within thirty seconds without firing a single lethal round.
Dante bypassed the private elevator's biometric lockout using the security codes we had extracted from the captured mercenary captain.
The elevator ascended toward the fiftieth floor with sickening speed, the digital floor indicator climbing higher into the clouds.
When the brass doors finally slid open with a soft chime, we stepped directly into a cavernous, two-story luxury penthouse.
Expensive modern art hung from the walls, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the storm churning over the city.
In the center of the vast living room, surrounded by half-packed leather luggage and shredded financial documents, stood Arthur Sterling.
At sixty-five years old, Arthur was a tall, silver-haired man with the sharp, predatory features of a corporate aristocrat.
He was frantically stuffing stacks of bearer bonds and diamond certificates into an aluminum flight case.
Two private bodyguards flanked him, their assault pistols raised toward the elevator doors.
Before the bodyguards could even acquire their targets, Luca and Dante fired through their suppressed barrels with pinpoint accuracy.
The two guards dropped silently to the thick white carpet, their weapons tumbling uselessly from their lifeless fingers.
Arthur Sterling froze, his hands trembling over the open aluminum case as he slowly raised his head.
He stared at Luca, his face twisting into a hideous sneer of aristocratic arrogance despite the guns pointed at his chest.
"Luca," Arthur spat, his voice filled with venomous condescension.
"You always were an uncivilized gutter dog, just like your pathetic father."
"You think you can storm my private residence and execute a respected civic leader?"
"The governor and the federal attorney general have breakfast at my private club every Sunday morning!"
Luca took three slow, heavy steps forward, lowering his weapon until the barrel was pointed directly at the floor.
"Your political friends won't be having breakfast with you ever again, Arthur," Luca said, his voice ringing with absolute finality.
"Ten minutes ago, my cyber teams sent thirty gigabytes of encrypted evidence to every major news outlet and federal prosecutor in the United States."
"Every bank transfer, every arson report, every payoff to corrupt judges, and the original high-resolution photograph from the Belmont Hotel."
Arthur's face instantly drained of color, his smug arrogance evaporating into sheer, unadulterated panic.
"No..." Arthur stammered, his eyes darting frantically toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"That evidence was destroyed twenty-six years ago!"
"Eleanor Hart kept it alive, Arthur," I said, stepping out from behind Luca's shoulder into the bright chandelier light.
Arthur's gaze snapped toward me, his breath hitching violently in his throat as he took in my face.
He stared at my high cheekbones, my dark green eyes, and the silver phoenix locket resting against the black lapels of my coat.
It was like he was looking at a ghost returned from the grave to drag him straight to hell.
"Maria?" Arthur whispered in horror, stumbling backward against his glass desk.
"No... Maria is dead... I watched her die..."
"Her name was Maria Moretti," I said, my voice echoing through the vast penthouse with terrifying clarity.
May you like
"She was my mother, you cowardly monster."
"And unlike you, her legacy survived the fire."
