Chapter 6 - The Shadow in the Connecting Doorway
The barrel of the silenced pistol caught the amber streetlamp light, gleaming with a dull, matte finish that promised absolute silence.
Elena didn’t scream. She reacted with the cold, hard muscle memory of someone who had survived a dozen street wars. In a fraction of a second, she dropped low, sweeping her arm out to knock Lorenzo off balance just as a muffled pfft echoed through the suite.
A heavy lead slug punched through the wallpaper where Lorenzo’s head had been a heartbeat earlier, showering drywall dust across the carpet.
“Down!” Elena yelled, shoving Lorenzo toward the heavy mahogany desk.
Lorenzo hit the floor hard, his injured ribs screaming in protest, but his training took over. Twisting onto his side, he raised his Sig Sauer toward the connecting doorway and fired twice. The loud cracks of the 9mm rounds shattered the expensive hotel windows, echoing like thunder in the enclosed space.
A muffled curse came from the adjoining room, followed by the heavy sound of a body hitting the floorboards.
Vincent didn't even flinch at the gunfire. He remained standing by the desk, his hands resting casually in his trench coat pockets, watching his son with a look of cold disappointment.
“You always were too quick to pull the trigger, Lorenzo,” Vincent said smoothly, stepping over the shattered glass on the floor. “Just like your uncle. Just like the men who couldn't see the bigger picture.”
Lorenzo dragged himself up, using the corner of the desk for support. His vision was swimming now, grey shadows creeping inward from the edges of his sight. The poison had nearly completed its work; his legs felt like stone, and every breath was a battle. Yet he kept the gun leveled at his father’s chest.
“You... you killed her,” Lorenzo choked out, his voice raw. “You killed my mother and you blamed Michael.”
“I didn't kill her, Lorenzo,” Vincent sighed, pulling a folded piece of heavy parchment paper from his inner pocket and tossing it onto the desk. “She left of her own free will. And she took half our liquid assets with her to fund a new life across the Canadian border. Read the signature at the bottom.”
Elena crawled over from the doorway, her hands stained with dust, and snatched the paper before Lorenzo could reach it. She unfolded it quickly, her green eyes scanning the lines of faded cursive ink. Her breath hitched.
“It’s... it’s not real,” Elena whispered, her voice shaking.
“It’s as real as the taxes you’ve been paying under an assumed name for a decade, Elena,” Vincent said coolly. “Your mother didn't run from me. She ran with the money to start a new syndicate in Montreal. Michael found out five years ago, which is why he came back to me. We weren’t enemies, Lorenzo. We were trying to clean up the mess your mother left behind.”
Lorenzo looked from his father to Elena, his mind spinning faster than his body could handle. “Is that true?” he demanded, his voice cracking.
Elena looked up, tears finally spilling over her lashes, but her jaw was set hard. “He’s lying! Don’t listen to his word games! He killed her on the dock that night, and I saw the blood with my own eyes!”
Before Vincent could reply, the heavy front door of Room 206 burst open with a deafening crash.
Michael stood in the doorway, his charcoal suit dusted with drywall, a heavy automatic pistol in his right hand. Behind him stood three armed enforcers, blocking any possible exit.
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Michael took one look at the body in the connecting doorway, then at Lorenzo, who was barely standing by the desk, holding his gun with both trembling hands.
“Well,” Michael said, a bitter, humorless smile touching his lips. “Looks like the family reunion is finally complete.”
