Chapter 12 - Blood beneath the floorboards
The armored convoy tore through the rain-slicked streets toward Roman’s private sanctuary on the northern cliffs, an impenetrable fortress guarded by men whose loyalties were bought with blood rather than money. Clara sat across from Roman in the dim cabin of the Maybach, her hands clutching the tarnished locket. The chill of the silver seemed to seep directly into her bones.
"Who was that seal from, Roman?" Clara demanded, her voice steady despite the adrenaline hammering in her ears. "Do not treat me like porcelain. If someone wants my life, I have the right to know their face."
Arthur sat beside her, staring blankly out the tinted window as lightning fractured the Chicago skyline. "His name is Julian Vance," Arthur murmured, his voice hollowed by old guilt. "Years ago, before Roman conquered the underworld, the Vance syndicate controlled every pier, every dock, and every customs official from here to Montreal. Julian was ruthless, sadistic, and obsessed with your mother, Clara."
"My mother died in an accident," Clara said firmly.
"It was no accident," Roman interrupted, his deep voice slicing through the rain hammering the roof. "Julian set that fire because your mother refused to steal the Bennett shipping manifests for him. Arthur hid you away, erased your name, and allowed the Harringtons to bully the family just to keep Vance's hounds off your scent. Julian vanished after I drove a blade through his chest ten years ago. I thought I fed him to Lake Michigan."
"He didn't drown," Arthur choked out. "The Harringtons weren't working alone, Roman. When they tried to strip Clara of her dignity and take our estate, Julian was funding them from the shadows. The Harringtons were just pawns to lure you into the light."
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A deafening blast shattered the night before Arthur could finish.
The lead escort vehicle exploded in a towering ball of flame, flipping twice across the highway asphalt. The driver of their Maybach slammed on the brakes, the heavy tires screeching as three black heavy-duty trucks boxed them in on the empty overpass. Men in tactical armor poured out, their assault rifles raised, aiming directly at the rear passenger doors.
