Chapter 6 - THE CUSTODY THREAT
Child services.
The words hit me harder than a bullet to the chest.
In my world, you could buy politicians, you could silence witnesses, and you could bury bodies deep in the Everglades. But family court, backed by a federal investigation and media scrutiny, was the one weapon that could bypass my entire defense grid.
"You let him do this," I said to my mother, my voice dead and hollow. "You introduced me to Vanessa. You pushed for the medical contracts."
"I didn't know he killed Claire!" my mother wept. "I thought he was just greedy, Victor. I thought a merger would legitimize the family. Please, you have to fix this. They have men outside my door."
"Then you better lock it," I said, and hung up.
I looked at Grace.
She was already moving. She walked straight to the locked cabinet where we kept Noah’s go-bag—the one every child in our world has, packed with passports, cash, and emergency supplies.
"We have to move him," Grace said, pulling the bag out. "If they show up with a judge's order and local police, you can't shoot your way out of it without losing him forever."
"We go to the safe house in the Keys," I said, pulling my jacket on. "Rossi’s men can hold the perimeter here."
"No," Grace said firmly. "Bellini knows about your safe houses. Vanessa has been living here for months. She knows your protocols."
"Then where?"
Grace slung the bag over her shoulder. "My father's old compound."
I stared at her. "Arthur Vance's compound? It was seized by the feds three years ago."
"The front half was," Grace corrected. "The bunker underneath wasn't on any blueprints. Only I have the access codes. Not even your men know about it."
It was a massive risk. But I looked at the woman who had brought my son back to life, who had danced barefoot in my kitchen, and who was now risking federal prison to save my boy.
I trusted her.
"Get Noah," I said. "We leave in three minutes."
Ten minutes later, we were in a heavily armored SUV, slipping out through a hidden service road at the back of the estate. Noah was strapped into his car seat, happily clutching the gray stuffed elephant Claire had left for him.
Grace sat in the back with him, holding his small hand.
I drove in silence, my mind calculating a hundred different ways to dismantle Richard Bellini.
"He's going to use the media," I said, breaking the silence as we merged onto the desolate highway heading west toward the swamplands. "If he leaks the custody petition, he controls the narrative. I'll be a violent mobster holding a child hostage."
"Then we change the narrative," Grace said.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a sleek, modern smartphone. It wasn't the basic model I had given her for emergencies.
"What is that?" I asked, eyeing the rearview mirror.
"My father’s old contact book," Grace said, tapping the screen. "You aren't the only one with politicians in your pocket, Victor. Arthur Vance owned half the appellate court judges in this state. And they still owe his estate favors."
I watched her in the mirror. She was typing rapidly, her face illuminated by the pale glow of the screen.
"I'm sending the Nassau bank ledgers to a federal judge in Miami who hated Bellini," Grace explained. "If the judge sees proof that Bellini is laundering money through his medical supply company, the custody petition gets frozen pending a federal fraud investigation."
"You can do that from a phone?"
Grace offered a small, grim smile. "I didn't spend my entire childhood baking cookies, Victor."
Suddenly, the SUV’s proximity alarm blared.
A heavy, blacked-out truck slammed into our rear bumper.
The SUV swerved. I gripped the wheel, fighting the skid, and floored the accelerator.
"Get down!" I shouted.
Grace immediately unbuckled, throwing her entire body over Noah’s car seat just as the back window shattered from a burst of gunfire.
Noah screamed, terrified by the noise.
"I've got you, baby, I've got you!" Grace yelled over the roar of the engine, shielding him completely.
I swerved into the oncoming lane, dodging a civilian car, and slammed the brakes. The black truck overshot us, skidding sideways.
I drew my weapon, rolled down the window, and fired three rapid shots into the truck's driver-side tires.
The truck blew out, sparking against the asphalt, and crashed heavily into the concrete barrier.
I hit the gas, leaving them behind in the smoke.
"Is everyone okay?" I demanded, my heart hammering.
Grace sat up slowly, brushing broken glass from her shoulders. She checked Noah, who was crying but unharmed.
"We're fine," Grace breathed.
But as she shifted back into her seat, I saw a dark stain spreading across the shoulder of her navy dress.
"Grace," I said, my voice dropping. "You're bleeding."
She looked down at her shoulder.
"It's just a graze," she lied, her face growing pale.
But as she reached up to press her hand against the wound, something fell out of her pocket and landed on the floorboard between the seats.
It was a silk scarf.
May you like
It was stained with old, dried blood.
And it bore the custom monogram of my head of security, Rossi.
