Chapter 7 - THE BOARDROOM
The sound of the gunshot bounced off the stone walls, ringing in my ears like a physical blow.
Pierce’s gun fired a fraction of a second later, the bullet sparking harmlessly against the stone ceiling as his body jerked backward. Marco’s shot had hit him squarely in the shoulder.
Pierce collapsed to the floor, screaming, dropping his weapon.
Marco didn't lower his gun. He stepped over to Pierce, kicking the suppressed pistol across the floor into the shadows. He looked down at the bleeding man with an expression of absolute, terrifying coldness.
"Tell Vincent he has exactly one hour," Marco said softly. "Before I burn his life to the ground."
Marco turned to me, his corporate mask entirely gone, replaced by the lethal authority of the man who ran Chicago’s underworld. "Put the ledger and the letter in your bag, Nora. We are leaving."
I didn't argue. I swept the ledger and my mother's unread letter into my duffel bag, my hands trembling violently.
We left Pierce groaning on the floor, bypassed the panicked priest upstairs, and sprinted back to the armored sedan.
"Where are we going?" I asked, gripping the bag to my chest as the driver slammed on the gas.
"Ferraro Tower," Marco said, checking the magazine of his weapon before sliding it back into his shoulder holster. "The board of directors is meeting tonight. Vincent called an emergency session to have Mama declared incompetent and officially seize her voting shares. With those shares, he controls the entire legitimate empire."
"But we have the ledger," I said. "We can prove he killed your father."
"Vincent won't go down quietly," Marco warned, his jaw tight. "He controls the building's security. It will not be a simple walk to the boardroom."
As we sped toward the financial district, I reached into the bag and pulled out the letter my mother had written. I carefully broke the seal.
My dearest Nora, the letter began, her familiar, slanted handwriting making my chest ache.
If you are reading this, Giana’s mind has held out long enough, and you have found Marco. I am so sorry for the life I forced you to live. I witnessed Vincent murder his own brother, Antonio, when Antonio confronted him about the stolen funds. Vincent saw me. He set the fire in our building the next day to silence us. I took the blame for the theft so Giana could pretend to hate me, keeping Vincent from suspecting she held the real proof.
Do not let my sacrifice be for nothing. Stand with the Ferraros. They are the only shield you have. I love you. Mom.
Tears spilled over my cheeks. I wiped them away furiously. My mother hadn't just survived; she had outplayed a monster to keep me alive.
The car screeched to a halt in an underground parking garage beneath a towering glass skyscraper.
Marco got out, his face set in stone. I followed close behind him.
We reached the private executive elevator. Marco swiped a keycard, but the panel flashed red.
ACCESS DENIED.
"Vincent locked out my credentials," Marco said grimly.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text from Dom.
Security guys here tried to cut the landlines. Giana told me how to access the estate's mainframe. I'm in the Ferraro corporate network. You have 60 seconds on the executive elevator before Vincent's IT guys notice.
I stared at the screen, a fierce smile breaking through my tears. Dom was seventeen, and he spent entirely too much time taking apart computers in our crappy apartment. He was brilliant.
The elevator panel abruptly turned green. The doors slid open.
"My brother," I said to Marco, stepping inside.
Marco gave a single, impressed nod. "Remind me to hire him."
We rode in silence to the penthouse level. The doors opened to a sprawling lobby of marble and glass. Four large security guards in dark suits immediately stepped forward, blocking the double doors to the boardroom.
"Mr. Ferraro," the head guard said, placing a hand on his holstered weapon. "Vincent left strict orders. You are not permitted inside."
"I own forty percent of this building," Marco said, not slowing his stride. "Step aside."
"I can't do that, sir."
Marco didn't stop. He walked directly up to the head guard, leaning in so close their faces almost touched.
"I know where your daughter goes to preschool, Jenkins," Marco whispered. It was a bluff—Marco didn't hurt children—but the sheer, unadulterated menace in his voice was horrifyingly real. "I know your wife works at Mercy Hospital. You have thirty seconds to decide if dying for Vincent's bonus is worth leaving them alone in this city."
The guard swallowed hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Slowly, he raised his hands and stepped back. The other three guards followed suit.
Marco pushed the heavy mahogany doors open.
The boardroom was vast, filled with twelve of the most powerful corporate figures in Chicago, all sitting around a massive glass table.
At the head of the table stood Vincent, holding a pen, ready to sign a document that would officially transfer Giana’s power to him.
Vincent looked up. His smug confidence faltered for a fraction of a second when he saw us, but he quickly recovered, flashing a condescending smile.
"Marco," Vincent sighed, addressing the board. "I apologize. My nephew is clearly having a breakdown. Security will escort him out shortly."
"Security isn't coming, Vincent," Marco said, striding into the room.
I followed him, feeling the eyes of every billionaire in the room burning into my cheap coat. I didn't care. I walked up to the glass table, unzipped my duffel bag, and slammed the heavy, leather-bound ledger down right in front of Vincent.
The thud echoed like a gunshot.
"What is this?" one of the board members demanded.
"That," I said, my voice ringing loud and clear in the cavernous room, "is the proof that Vincent Ferraro has been embezzling from this company for two decades."
Vincent laughed. A sharp, dismissive sound. "A forged book brought in by a fired waitress? Marco, you are desperate."
"It's not a forgery," a voice rang out from the back of the room.
Everyone turned.
May you like
Standing in the doorway, flanked by Dom and a half-dozen heavily armed estate guards, was Giana Ferraro.
She was wearing her velvet coat, standing perfectly straight. And in her hand, she held the silver pocket watch.
