Chapter 8 - The Confession Beneath the Rain
Up in the central study, the double doors were blown off their hinges by a concussive blast that blew the windows inward.
Three armed operatives sent by Richard Vance poured into the room, sweeping their weapons across the empty space.
“Clear!” one shouted.
“He’s not here. Search the—urggh!”
The man choked on his own breath as a heavy leather boot slammed into his spine, sending him crashing into the mahogany desk.
From the shadows near the balcony doors, Lorenzo Moretti stepped into the lightning flash.
He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. He wore a black tactical vest over a dark t-shirt, his hands encased in reinforced combat gloves. In his right hand, he held a suppressed tactical rifle.
“You’re trespassing,” Lorenzo said softly.
The two remaining operatives spun around, raising their weapons.
Lorenzo didn't aim. He fired twice in rapid succession. Both men dropped instantly, their weapons clattering against the Persian rug.
Lorenzo walked slowly over to the surviving operative gasping on the floor, pressing the toe of his boot into the man’s chest.
“Who sent you?”
“Vance...” the man wheezed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Cincinnati... he wants his wife and kid back...”
“Richard Vance made a fatal miscalculation,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a chilling register. “He thought because I operate in Chicago, my reach stopped at the state line.”
He pulled out his secure phone, dialing a single number.
“Vito.”
“Boss! We got the perimeter secure. Three more down in the courtyard,” Vito’s voice barked over the speaker.
“Track the IP address of the burner phone found on this operative,” Lorenzo commanded, staring down at the bleeding man. “Find out where Richard Vance is sitting right now.”
“Already on it, boss. He’s at a private suite at the Drake Hotel downtown, waiting for confirmation.”
“Tell the strike team to meet me at the Drake in twenty minutes.”
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Lorenzo hung up. He looked down at the ruined study, his eyes lingering for a second on the bottom desk drawer where Emma’s crayon drawing rested beside Isabella’s ultrasound.
He walked out of the room, stepping over broken glass as the rain continued to hammer against the shattered windows.
