Chapter 4 - THE MONSTERS IN THE DARK
“No!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat with a raw, primal panic.
Sixty-three people. Mr. Peterson. Mrs. Alvarez. They were at the center right now for the Thursday night late bingo and soup kitchen.
Carmine didn't hesitate. He lunged across the table, grabbing Hargrove by the lapels of his thousand-dollar suit, and slammed him backward into the mahogany paneling of the wall. Crystal glasses shattered on the floor.
“Call them off!” Carmine roared, his forearm pressed brutally against Hargrove’s windpipe.
Hargrove choked, his face turning a mottled purple, but he managed a sickening grin. “It’s... too late. Silas... has his orders.”
Daniel Mercer was already backing away toward the dining room doors, his briefcase clutched to his chest. “You’re making a mistake, Carmine. You’re destroying the family’s legitimate future over a building full of ghosts!”
“Antonio!” Carmine barked, ignoring the lawyer. “Get the cars. Now!”
Antonio was already running, his apron flying behind him.
Carmine dropped Hargrove to the floor, leaving the billionaire gasping for air among the ruined white roses. Carmine turned to me, his dark eyes burning with a fierce, protective fire that looked exactly like his father’s.
“Eleanor, come with me,” Carmine ordered.
Vanessa grabbed her red silk skirts. “I’m coming too.”
Carmine looked at her, his jaw tight. “You’ve done enough tonight, Vanessa.”
“I’m coming, Carmine!” she yelled, her voice echoing with desperate resolve. “I am not letting you face Hargrove’s men alone!”
We sprinted through the grand foyer of the Orsini estate, bursting out into the cold, biting night air. Two black SUVs were already idling on the cobblestone driveway, tires screeching as Antonio threw them into gear.
I climbed into the back of the lead SUV, my hands shaking violently. Carmine jumped into the driver's seat, Antonio in the passenger side, and Vanessa scrambled into the back beside me.
Carmine slammed his foot on the gas. The heavy vehicle surged forward, tearing through the wrought-iron gates of the estate and onto the slick city streets.
The drive was a blur of neon lights and wailing sirens in the distance. I clutched my small folder to my chest, praying to Arthur, praying to God, praying to anyone who would listen.
Please. Don't let them be hurt. Please.
We skidded around the final corner onto Elm Street.
My heart plummeted into my stomach.
The Brookside Senior Community Center stood at the end of the block, a humble, single-story brick building with peeling white paint and a wooden wheelchair ramp.
But surrounding it were three massive, yellow bulldozers. Their diesel engines roared into the night sky, thick black exhaust billowing from their stacks.
Standing in front of the bulldozers was a line of fifteen men holding heavy steel pipes and crowbars. At their center stood Silas, Hargrove’s head of security—a massive, scarred man in a tactical jacket.
And trapped inside the building, peering terrified through the large front windows, were the seniors. I could see Mrs. Greene clutching her walker, her face pale with terror.
Carmine slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding sideways and blocking the street.
We leaped out of the vehicle.
“Turn off the machines!” Carmine roared, his voice carrying over the rumble of the diesel engines. He walked straight toward the line of armed men, radiating pure, lethal authority.
Silas didn't step back. He rested a heavy crowbar over his shoulder. “Property belongs to Hargrove Capital now, Orsini. We have orders to clear the lot. If you and the old lady are smart, you'll get back in your car.”
“If one of those blades touches that brick,” Carmine said, unbuttoning his suit jacket to reveal the dark leather shoulder holster beneath, “I will personally make sure none of you ever leave this street.”
The armed men shifted uneasily, exchanging nervous glances. They were corporate thugs, paid to intimidate. They weren't prepared for a shootout with the head of the Orsini family.
Silas sneered. He reached into his tactical jacket and pulled out a heavy, black handgun. He racked the slide, the metallic clack echoing sharply in the cold air.
“I don't think you have the numbers for a war tonight, Carmine,” Silas said, aiming the weapon directly at Carmine’s chest.
I let out a sob, stepping forward to shield Carmine, but a flash of red silk caught my eye.
Vanessa stepped past me. She walked directly into the space between Carmine and Silas’s gun.
“Put the gun down, Silas,” Vanessa said. Her voice wasn't trembling anymore. It was absolute ice.
Silas laughed harshly. “Or what, sweetheart? You gonna hit me with your purse?”
“No,” Vanessa said. She reached into her red gown and pulled out a small, digital banking token. She held it up in the harsh headlights of the bulldozers. “I’m going to hit a button and cancel the two-point-four million dollars currently sitting in your offshore Cayman account.”
Silas froze. The gun wavered.
Carmine stared at Vanessa in absolute shock.
“You didn't pay the Chicago syndicate,” Carmine realized, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“There was no Chicago syndicate,” Vanessa said, never taking her eyes off Silas. “I tracked the ransom note. I found out it was sent from inside Hargrove’s own security firm. They were trying to manipulate me into signing the contract. So, I took Hargrove’s advance money, and I used it to buy the loyalty of the man holding the gun.”
She looked at Silas. “I transferred the money to your account an hour ago, Silas. It’s pending my final authorization. Drop the gun, pull your men out, and you retire a millionaire. Shoot my fiancé, and I cancel the wire. You go to prison with nothing.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the idling bulldozers.
Silas looked at Hargrove’s empty street, then at the banking token in Vanessa’s hand.
Slowly, Silas lowered the weapon. He turned to his men. “Shut the machines down. We’re leaving.”
A massive wave of relief washed over me. Vanessa had done it. She had played the ultimate inside game.
The diesel engines choked and died. Silas and his men began walking away into the darkness.
“You brilliant, crazy woman,” Carmine breathed, reaching out to pull Vanessa into his arms.
But before their hands could meet, the heavy front doors of the community center crashed open.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, was Daniel Mercer.
The silver-haired attorney wasn't holding his briefcase anymore. He was holding a gun.
And his other hand was wrapped tightly around the arm of a terrified little girl wearing a pink winter coat.
“Grandma!” the little girl cried out, tears streaming down her face.
May you like
My knees gave out, and I hit the cold pavement.
It was my eight-year-old granddaughter, Lily.
