Chapter 8 - THE FALL OF THE VANES
The blue flames from the bar cast dancing, demonic shadows across Celeste’s face. The polished society princess was gone; her hair was wild, her eyes frantic, and the barrel of her silver revolver was locked dead onto my heart.
“Let him go, Lorenzo!” Celeste shrieked, her finger trembling on the trigger. “Or I put a bullet in the waitress!”
Lorenzo froze. His knee was pressed firmly into Gilbert’s throat, his massive hands gripping the traitor’s collar. He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes snapping to the gun pointed at me.
The lethal stillness returned to him. It was terrifying to watch. The rage drained from his face, replaced by absolute, deadly calculation.
“You shoot her, Celeste,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping to a low, guttural whisper that cut through the crackling fire, “and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you forget what it feels like to sleep.”
“I’m already dead if that ledger gets out!” Celeste screamed, tears of pure frustration spilling down her cheeks. “My family is bankrupt! You were supposed to die tonight, Lorenzo! I was supposed to take the territory, pay off the debts, and save my name! You ruined everything!”
“You ruined yourself,” I choked out, pushing myself up to my knees, my hands flat on the cold marble. “You killed my father. You tried to kill a six-year-old boy.”
“Your father was a nobody!” Celeste spat, taking a step closer to me, the gun shaking violently in her hand. “He was garbage! And you’re just like him—collateral damage!”
She cocked the hammer back.
I didn't think. The fourteen years of grief, the fourteen years of feeling small and invisible, erupted in my chest like a volcano.
I didn't flinch away. I lunged forward.
I grabbed the heavy silver water pitcher that had fallen from my tray hours ago. As Celeste pulled the trigger, I swung the pitcher upward with everything I had.
BANG.
The bullet shattered the marble floor an inch from my ear, deafening me.
The heavy silver pitcher slammed into Celeste’s wrist. She screamed, the bone cracking audibly under the impact. The silver revolver flew from her grip, skittering across the floor into the shadows.
Celeste stumbled backward, clutching her broken wrist, her face twisted in agony. “You bitch!” she shrieked, lunging at me with her good hand.
She tackled me to the floor. Her fingers clawed at my face, her nails tearing the skin on my cheek. I fought back, kicking and thrashing, my hands scrambling for any purchase. We rolled through the broken glass, the heat of the fire washing over us.
I pinned her to the ground, my forearm pressing hard against her throat. She thrashed wildly, her eyes bulging.
Suddenly, a deafening crack echoed over us.
I jerked my head up.
Gilbert had managed to squirm free from Lorenzo’s grip. He had grabbed his dropped pistol from the floor and aimed it at Lorenzo’s back.
But Lorenzo was already waiting for him.
Lorenzo had his own heavy black pistol raised. He didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger once.
Gilbert’s eyes went wide. The gun slipped from his hand. He collapsed onto the marble floor, motionless.
The restaurant fell violently silent, save for the crackling of the flames at the bar.
Lorenzo lowered his weapon, his chest heaving, blood seeping fresh through the makeshift bandage on his shoulder. He looked at Gilbert's body, then slowly turned his eyes to Celeste, who was pinned beneath me, gasping for air.
I let go of her throat and scrambled backward, my breathing ragged.
Celeste curled into a ball, cradling her broken wrist, sobbing hysterically. The fight was completely gone from her. She looked pathetic. A broken queen in a ruined castle.
Lorenzo walked over to us, his boots crunching on the glass. He looked down at his fiancée.
“Where is the ledger, Lorenzo?” Celeste sobbed, looking up at him with pleading, bloodshot eyes. “Please. The Commission will kill me.”
“The Commission doesn't have it,” I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to echo in the empty room.
Lorenzo looked at me, a question in his eyes.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. A FedEx receipt.
“When I left the Greyhound station,” I said, looking directly at Celeste, “I didn’t drop a tracker on a train. I went to the 24-hour drop box. I mailed the ledger to the Chicago Tribune, the FBI field office, and the State Attorney.”
Celeste let out a guttural scream of pure despair, burying her face in the floor.
Lorenzo stared at me. A slow, breathtaking smile spread across his exhausted face.
“You didn’t set a trap for her,” Lorenzo murmured in awe. “You burned her entire world down.”
In the distance, the wail of dozens of police sirens began to cut through the night, growing louder by the second.
“The police,” I panicked, looking at Lorenzo’s gun. “Lorenzo, they’ll arrest you. We have to go.”
“No,” Lorenzo said softly. He dropped his gun onto the floor next to Gilbert. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single sheet of paper. He knelt down in front of me.
“What is that?” I asked, trembling.
“It’s a life insurance policy,” Lorenzo said gently. “Richard Vane took it out on your father a month before he murdered him. The Vanes profited off his death. I found it in the lockbox with the ledger.”
He tore the paper in half, then into quarters, letting the pieces fall like snow into the puddle of water and blood on the floor.
“You belong to no one, Evie,” Lorenzo whispered, his eyes burning into mine. “Your father’s debts are paid. Your name is clear.”
The red and blue lights of the police cruisers began to flash through the shattered windows.
“Lorenzo, please, we have to run!” I begged, grabbing his uninjured arm.
May you like
He reached up, his large, warm hand cupping my face. He wiped a streak of blood from my cheek with his thumb.
“I’m done running,” he said softly.
