THE WEIGHT OF EMPIRE

Silas was a man who looked like he had been poured into his expensive charcoal suit. He had flat, dead eyes and a smile that never quite reached them. He squeezed Emily's shoulder harder, forcing a gasp of pain from her lips.

"Where is she?" Emily snarled, ignoring the pain.

Silas chuckled softly, dangling Helen's wooden rosary beads from his fingers. "The old woman? She's resting comfortably in the back of my van. Her breathing isn't so great, though. I'd give her about an hour before her lungs give out completely without her oxygen tank."

Emily's grip tightened around the leather ledger. "What do you want?"

"Vincent is dead," Silas said, stepping closer, his cologne smelling sharply of peppermint and gunpowder. "But the old man was paranoid. He locked the empire's offshore accounts behind a set of passcodes that he only wrote down in one place." He tapped the ledger in Emily’s hands. "Hand it over, and I'll let you and your mother get on the next train out of this city."

"You're lying," Emily said coldly. "The second I give you this book, you'll kill us both. We're loose ends."

Silas sighed, a deeply exaggerated sound of disappointment. He nodded to the man on his right. The brute stepped forward, drawing a suppressed pistol and pressing the barrel directly against Emily’s ribs.

"I really don't have time to negotiate with the help," Silas muttered. "Give me the book, Emily."

Emily looked past Silas, her eyes scanning the vast, empty terminal. She saw the heavy marble pillars. She saw the digital departure board ticking down the minutes. And then, her eyes caught a fleeting, impossible movement in the reflection of the glass ticket booth behind Silas.

A shadow peeling itself away from the wall.

A figure dragging its left leg, wearing a sweater completely saturated in dark, wet crimson.

Vincent.

He wasn't dead. He was a ghost walking out of the grave, and his amber eyes were locked onto Silas’s back with the fury of a dying god.

Emily looked back at Silas, forcing her expression to remain completely defeated. She needed to buy Vincent ten seconds.

"Okay," Emily whispered, her voice trembling perfectly. "Okay, you win. But I need you to promise me my mother will be safe."

Silas grinned, his dead eyes crinkling. "You have my absolute word, sweetheart."

Emily slowly lifted the heavy leather ledger, offering it outward. Silas reached for it, his greed making him careless.

"Hey, Silas," a raspy, blood-choked voice echoed through the empty marble terminal.

Silas froze. The smile vanished from his face instantly.

He spun around just as Vincent Moretti stepped out of the shadows. Vincent was deathly pale, holding his side with one hand, but his right hand was utterly steady, pointing a massive silver revolver directly at Silas's chest.