Chapter 6 - THE CONFESSIONAL
The sound of Viko’s voice echoing through the ruined church was like ice water down Lena’s spine.
She looked at Adrien. He was completely unresponsive, his breathing dangerously shallow. He was bleeding out. She couldn't move him, and she couldn't carry him.
She looked at Leo. The five-year-old was staring at his unconscious father, his bottom lip trembling, eyes wide with silent terror.
Lena had to make a choice. If she stayed, Viko would kill all three of them. If she surrendered, Viko would kill Adrien, take Leo, and execute her anyway.
She let go of the bloody cloth pressing against Adrien’s wound. She reached down and pulled the heavy Sig Sauer from Adrien’s limp hand. The metal grip was slick with his blood. It was heavy, far heavier than she expected.
“Leo,” Lena whispered, crawling over to the boy. She wiped a tear from his cheek with her clean hand. “I need you to be the bravest boy in the world right now. Can you do that?”
Leo nodded slowly.
Lena pointed to the back of the church, toward the shadows of the side aisles. “See those wooden boxes? The ones with the curtains?” They were old wooden confessionals, tucked into the darkest alcoves of the sanctuary. “I need you to go inside the furthest one. Hide under the bench. And do not make a sound, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?”
“Are you coming with me?” Leo whispered.
“I’m going to fix things,” Lena promised, kissing his forehead. She handed him the silver safe deposit key. “Keep this safe. Don't let anyone see it.”
She watched as the boy scrambled quietly into the shadows, slipping behind the heavy velvet curtain of the last confessional.
Lena stood up. She wiped her bloody hands on her skirt, gripped the gun with both hands, and moved deeper into the church.
She crept down the opposite aisle, putting distance between herself, Adrien, and the boy. The church was a maze of shattered pews, fallen statues, and debris. She ducked behind a massive marble baptismal font near the altar.
Footsteps approached. Slow. Confident.
“Adrien,” Viko called out. He was walking down the center aisle, a flashlight in one hand, a suppressed pistol in the other. Two of his men fanned out on either side of him. “You’re bleeding heavily. I can see the puddles. It’s over.”
Lena pressed her back against the cold marble. Her heart was beating so loudly she was certain they could hear it. Answer One, Open Two. Viko had betrayed the syndicate to the Feds, but why? Why destroy Maria?
“You know why she died, Adrien?” Viko’s voice drifted through the darkness, taunting, cruel. “She figured out I was talking to the FBI. Yes. But it was more than that. I loved her, Adrien. Before you ever came into the picture, Maria was mine. And when she found the ledger, I begged her to come with me. I told her I’d give her the world. And you know what she said?”
Viko stopped walking. The silence stretched tight.
“She said she would rather burn than betray you,” Viko spat, his voice cracking with sudden, venomous rage. “So, I let her.”
Lena felt sick. It wasn’t just a power grab. It was a crime of twisted, jealous passion. Viko had destroyed an empire because he couldn't have the queen.
“Find them,” Viko snapped to his men. “Check the alcoves.”
The beam of a flashlight swept across the altar, missing Lena by inches. The two men split up, one heading toward the narthex where Adrien lay, the other moving toward the confessionals where Leo was hiding.
Lena had to act. Now.
She remembered a trick her grandfather used to use when hunting coyotes on the farm. Misdirection.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. The screen was cracked, the battery at two percent. She opened her voice recorder app. She had recorded a voice memo weeks ago—a quick reminder to herself about the hotel’s cleaning schedule.
She set the volume to maximum, hit play, and threw the phone as hard as she could toward the choir loft stairs on the opposite side of the altar.
The phone clattered against the wooden steps. A second later, Lena’s recorded voice echoed loudly in the cavernous space: “Check suite 1908. VIP departure, eleven a.m. Towels and trash.”
The sound was jarring, out of place, echoing confusingly off the stone walls.
“Up there!” one of the men shouted, swinging his flashlight toward the stairs. Both guards broke into a run toward the sound.
Viko, however, didn't move. He stood perfectly still in the center aisle. He was too smart. He knew a distraction when he heard one.
His flashlight beam swung away from the stairs, panning slowly across the altar. It stopped directly on the edge of the marble baptismal font.
It illuminated the edge of Lena’s skirt.
“Well, well,” Viko murmured. “The brave little maid.”
He raised his gun and fired.
The bullet struck the marble font, exploding into a shower of sharp stone shrapnel. Lena screamed, throwing her arms over her face as stone chips bit into her skin.
“Come out, Lena,” Viko said, walking slowly toward her. “Adrien is dead. The boy is mine. Give me the key, and I’ll make your end quick.”
Lena was trapped. Her back was against the wall. She looked at the heavy gun in her trembling hands. She had never fired a weapon in her life. She didn't even know if the safety was on.
She heard Viko’s footsteps. Five feet away. Three feet.
She closed her eyes, took a ragged breath, and stepped out from behind the marble font, raising the gun with both hands.
Viko was right there. He smiled, a cold, predatory smirk. His gun was already pointed at her chest.
“You don't even have the safety off, sweetheart,” he mocked.
Lena looked down. He was right.
Viko’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Suddenly, a massive, dark figure launched itself from the shadows above the altar.
Adrien.
He hadn't bled out. He had crawled up the back stairs to the pulpit. He hit Viko with the force of a freight train, driving the smaller man into the hard stone floor. Viko’s gun fired wildly into the ceiling as he fell.
Adrien roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated fury. Despite the gaping wound in his side, adrenaline and vengeance gave him terrifying strength. He pinned Viko to the floor, his fists coming down in brutal, bone-crushing strikes.
“This is for Maria!” Adrien shouted, his fist connecting with a sickening crack.
Lena watched in shock. The monster the world thought Adrien Moretti was had finally been unleashed.
But Adrien was wounded. The exertion was draining his last reserves of blood. Viko, desperate and fighting for his life, managed to slip a hand to his ankle.
He pulled a backup blade, a curved karambit knife.
Viko thrust upward, driving the blade deep into Adrien’s shoulder.
Adrien roared in pain, his weight shifting off Viko. Viko kicked out, throwing Adrien off him. Viko scrambled to his feet, his face bloody, his eyes wild. He grabbed his fallen pistol and aimed it squarely at Adrien’s head.
“Goodbye, King,” Viko panted.
BANG.
The gunshot echoed so loudly it shook dust from the rafters.
Viko froze. His eyes widened in shock. He looked down.
A dark red stain was spreading rapidly across his camel hair coat, just below his collarbone.
He looked up, past Adrien, toward the altar.
Lena stood there, both hands gripping the Sig Sauer. Smoke curled from the barrel. Her eyes were wide, her breathing erratic, but her hands were no longer shaking. She had found the safety.
Viko’s knees buckled. He collapsed onto the stone floor, gasping for air.
Adrien stared at Lena, stunned. The maid who was afraid of a stern manager had just shot the most dangerous man in Chicago.
Lena lowered the gun, her chest heaving. She looked at Adrien, then at Viko bleeding on the floor.
“I told you,” Lena whispered, her voice shaking but fiercely proud. “I’m not doing nothing.”
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Before she could take a step toward Adrien, the heavy wooden doors of the church were kicked open again. Bright tactical flashlights cut through the darkness, blinding them.
“Chicago Police! Drop the weapon! Put your hands in the air!”
