Chapter 10 - The Architect of Ruin
The interior of the armored Maybach smelled of cured leather, ozone, and the bitter copper tang of pure adrenaline. Outside, the frozen asphalt of Minnesota dissolved into a blur of gray slush as the motorcade surged south toward Leandro’s private airstrip. In the back seat, the silence between us was heavier than the blizzard that had nearly claimed both our lives hours before.
Leandro sat rigidly beside me, his scarred hand resting flat on the mahogany console. The crimson envelope lay between us, torn open, its single sheet of heavy cream parchment trembling slightly with the vibration of the twelve-cylinder engine.
"Julian Vance," Leandro said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to reverberate in my bones. "He was a state prosecutor four years ago. Then a senator. Now he is thirty days away from securing his party's nomination for the presidency of the United States."
I leaned closer, reading the elegant, razor-sharp script embossed with a discreet seal from Capitol Hill.
*The debts of the past are settled in the halls of tomorrow. Do not come to Washington, Leandro. There are no survivors in this caucus.*
"He orchestrated the ambush that killed your brother?" I asked, my fingers brushing against Leandro’s sleeve. Beneath the heavy wool of his bespoke overcoat, his muscles were coiled like steel cables. "A sitting United States Senator?"
"Arthur Harkort was a dog with money, nothing more," Leandro replied, turning his face toward me. In the dim, recessed light of the cabin, the jagged scar running from his temple to his jawline took on a ferocious, carved-marble quality. But his single good eye burned with an intensity that took my breath away. "Vance needed capital to fund his early PACs. My brother, Mateo, discovered that Harkort’s construction empire was laundering money from state contracts directly into Vance’s offshore accounts. Mateo refused to take Vance’s bribe. Three days later, Mateo’s car was run off an overpass into the frozen Mississippi."
The horror of it settled into my chest. "And you survived."
"Barely." Leandro reached out, his thumb gently catching my lower lip, tracing the tremble there with an uncharacteristic softness. "I took a piece of metal through my face and three bullets in my ribs. I built an empire in the ashes because I believed Harkort was the head of the serpent. All this time, I cut off the tail, while the head moved into the Capitol."
The car swung sharply onto the tarmac. Ahead, a midnight-black Gulfstream G650 stood with its engines already whining, bathing the snow in a hot kerosene haze. Men in tactical armor formed a perimeter, their rifles lowered but ready.
"If you get on that plane with me, Clare," Leandro murmured, leaning down so his lips hovered an inch from my ear, "there is no returning to your quiet life in Minneapolis. You will not be an innocent bystander whom fate seated next to a monster. You will be walking onto the national stage beside an outlaw at war with the most powerful men in America."
I looked down at my hands. The satin of my evening gown was ruined, stained with dirt and soot from the shootout at the warehouse. My bare heels were long gone, replaced by a pair of combat boots one of his men had scavenged for me. I had every reason to walk away, to demand police protection, to pretend that the luxury charity gala had been nothing more than a nightmare.
Instead, I looked into the scarred face of the only man who had shielded me with his own flesh while bullets tore the world apart.
"Your brother deserves justice," I said, meeting his fierce gaze evenly. "And whoever gave that order doesn't deserve the Oval Office. We fly."
May you like
A dark, dangerous smile touched the corner of Leandro's mouth—the first genuine smile I had ever seen on him. He took my hand, lacing his long, calloused fingers through mine, and stepped out into the freezing wind.
***
