Chapter 6 - THE RACE TO FIRST NATIONAL BANK
The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the bulletproof windshield of Luca’s matte-black armored SUV as it tore through downtown Chicago traffic at ninety miles per hour, sirens wailing from the two security escort vehicles flanking our sides.
In the backseat, Arthur Vance sat handcuffed to a steel security ring bolted into the vehicle's floorboards, his expression a mask of infuriating, smug confidence.
In the front passenger seat, I clutched the edge of the dashboard, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Beside me, Luca drove with one hand, his knuckles stark white against the steering wheel, his eyes fixed laser-like on the gray concrete canyon of LaSalle Street ahead.
“The bank is four blocks away, Boss,” Marco’s voice crackled through the encrypted radio from the lead escort vehicle. “We’ve got units securing the main lobby and the underground vault access. But Arthur’s dead-man's switch timer is ticking down. We have less than twenty minutes before noon.”
Luca didn't respond verbally. He simply pressed his foot harder against the accelerator, the heavy SUV surging forward and weaving aggressively through a gap between two semi-trucks with inches to spare.
I glanced back at Arthur Vance in the rearview mirror.
The older man was looking out the window at the passing skyscrapers, humming a faint, tuneless melody under his breath as if he were taking a leisurely Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside.
“You’re gambling everything on a bluff, Arthur,” I said, my voice cutting sharply through the hum of the engine.
Arthur turned his head, his cold blue eyes meeting mine in the mirror. He offered a patronizing, condescending smile.
“My dear child,” Arthur murmured smoothly. “In my line of work, you never gamble unless you own the casino. Do you really think a man of my intelligence would rely on a simple bluff when dealing with a mafia patriarch?”
“You’re a traitor,” I snapped back, a sudden surge of fierce anger overriding my fear. “You helped a rival family try to murder a baby, you lied to Luca for thirty years, and you think you’re going to walk away with a golden parachute?”
“I don't need to walk away, my dear,” Arthur replied, his smile widening. “I just need the clock to strike twelve. Once that server upload triggers, the federal government will tear this family apart brick by brick, and whatever is left of the Moretti fortune will be ripe for the picking.”
Luca slammed his foot on the brakes.
The heavy SUV screeched to a violent halt directly in front of the grand granite steps of the First National Bank of Chicago.
Before the vehicle had even finished rocking, Luca flung his door open and leaped out onto the pavement.
“Marco! Secure the perimeter! Nobody enters or exits this building!” Luca barked, unlatching the rear door of the SUV and hauling Arthur Vance out by his handcuffs with ruthless efficiency.
“Let’s move!” Luca ordered.
We surged up the grand granite stairs, bursting through the heavy glass revolving doors into the soaring marble lobby of the bank. Terrified patrons scattered in all directions as four armed security guards in black tactical gear formed a wedge around Luca, Arthur, and me.
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“Take us to the vault, Arthur,” Luca growled, pushing the lawyer forward toward the private elevator banks. “And if you try anything clever, I won't wait for a federal judge to sentence you.”
Arthur chuckled softly, wincing slightly as the handcuffs bit into his wrists. “Lead the way, Luciano. Let’s go see what your father left behind.”
