Chapter 13
Chapter 13: A Family Reunion
The rain in Chicago never just fell; it punished. It slicked the concrete of the abandoned shipping yard on the south side, turning the gravel into a grey soup. Enzo stood beneath the rusted overhang of Warehouse 4, a heavy wool coat draped over his broad shoulders, a cigar burning down between his fingers. Behind him, six of his best men stood in absolute silence, weapons drawn but kept low.
A pair of headlights cut through the downpour. A sleek, armored SUV pulled into the warehouse, its tires crunching on the glass shards littering the floor. The engine died, and the driver’s side door opened.
A man stepped out, holding a large, high-end golf umbrella. He was in his late thirties, dressed in a bespoke Italian suit that looked entirely ridiculous against the industrial decay around him. He had Preston’s sharp, aristocratic nose, but his eyes were wilder, loose with the arrogance of a man who thought he had outsmarted the devil.
"Enzo DeLuca," Julian Vance said, his voice smooth, carrying an easy, Ivy League charm. "I must say, your security is slipping. It took your boys nearly forty-eight hours to find this address. I expected better from Nathan’s brother."
Enzo didn't move. He took a long drag from his cigar, the tip glowing a fierce, angry orange in the gloom. "Julian. I usually don't like ghosts. They tend to make a mess of my ledgers."
Julian laughed, a sharp, barking sound that echoed off the corrugated iron walls. "The ledgers belong to me now, Don DeLuca. Preston is a senile old fool who got sloppy. He thought he could trade Harper to buy himself time. But Harper wasn't just a daughter. She was the sole trustee of the Whitcomb Legacy Fund. Her signature is the only thing that can unlock the primary gold reserves in New York."
"She’s not signing anything," Enzo said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that signaled a death sentence.
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"Oh, I think she will," Julian said, his smile widening, a terrifying mirror of Preston’s old, manipulative grin. "Because if she doesn't, the federal prosecutor who handled Preston’s case is going to receive a very interesting anonymous tip. A tip containing a set of heavily modified financial records showing that the DeLuca family used the Nathan & Lillian House to launder twenty million dollars of cartel money. It’s an airtight frame, Enzo. You go to a federal pen, the sanctuary gets shut down, and Harper is left all alone again."
Julian leaned forward against his umbrella, his eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. "So here’s the deal, cousin-in-law. You bring me Harper. You let her sign the release forms. And maybe, just maybe, I let you keep your little kingdom."
