Chapter 7 - The Empire His Father Left BehindDante did not speak during the drive from the cemetery.
That frightened Elena more than shouting would have.
He sat beside her in the armored SUV with one hand wrapped around hers and the other holding his phone.
Calls came every few minutes.
He ignored most of them.
Marcus rode in front.
“Nothing yet.”
Dante stared through the window.
“The shooter?”
“Professional.”
“Obviously.”
“No shell casings.”
Marcus continued.
“Camera coverage around the cemetery was disabled 7 minutes before the first shot.”
“Traffic cameras?”
“Same.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“Bishop.”
Elena looked at him.
“You’re certain?”
“No.”
“Then why say his name like that?”
“Because Samuel did.”
Dante finally turned.
“And Samuel is dead.”
Obsidian Tower entered lockdown before they arrived.
Every employee was searched.
Every delivery stopped.
Electronic access codes were changed.
Dante brought Elena directly to his private office.
She had rarely entered it.
The room looked different from the penthouse.
No photographs.
No softness.
This was where Dante Vanel had built and controlled an empire.
A massive map of New York occupied one wall.
Shipping routes.
Properties.
Warehouses.
Construction sites.
Companies.
Elena stared.
“How much do you actually own?”
“Legally?”
“That answer concerns me.”
“Then don’t ask illegally.”
“Dante.”
He sighed.
“Too much.”
She placed the brass key on his desk.
“Tell me about Bishop.”
Dante remained standing.
“Cardinal Bishop is 67.”
“That cannot be his real name.”
“It is.”
“His parents named him Cardinal?”
“His mother was eccentric.”
“And he became a mafia lawyer.”
“Life disappoints mothers.”
Despite everything, Elena almost smiled.
Dante continued.
“Bishop was my father’s attorney.”
“Only attorney?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“Confessor.”
“Fixer.”
“Strategist.”
Dante’s eyes hardened.
“He knew where every body was buried.”
“Literally?”
“Sometimes.”
Elena stared.
Dante did not smile.
“He handled the dock investigation?”
“Yes.”
“So he knew about my father.”
“Almost certainly.”
Elena’s anger returned.
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know Bishop had direct involvement.”
“You knew he worked for your father.”
“I knew hundreds of people worked for my father.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Elena, Vittorio compartmentalized everything.”
“My father died.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I cannot change it.”
The words came sharper than he intended.
Silence followed.
Dante closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Elena looked away.
“So am I.”
He touched her hand.
She allowed it.
“We go together.”
“Where?”
“Grand Central.”
Dante looked at the key.
“No.”
She laughed bitterly.
“We already negotiated this.”
“Someone shot at you.”
“And killed Samuel.”
“Exactly.”
“That means whatever is inside locker 317 matters.”
“That means you stay here while I retrieve it.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“My father hid that evidence.”
Her voice shook.
“Samuel spent 11 years protecting it.”
“I am not sitting inside a penthouse while men decide what happens to my family’s truth.”
Dante studied her.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
The answer surprised her.
“That easy?”
“No.”
He took his jacket.
“I’m learning marriage.”
Grand Central Terminal at 9 p.m. remained crowded enough to provide cover and dangerous enough to make Dante visibly uncomfortable.
Elena had never seen him in such a public place without an entourage.
Tonight, the entourage was simply disguised.
Marcus stood near a coffee kiosk.
Nico watched from the balcony.
Two others blended into the crowd.
Dante wore a dark coat and baseball cap.
Elena glanced at him.
“You look ridiculous.”
“I look anonymous.”
“You look like a billionaire pretending to attend a Yankees game.”
“I hate baseball.”
“Exactly.”
They descended toward the lower concourse.
Locker 317 was near an old service corridor.
Elena inserted the brass key.
It turned.
Dante positioned himself beside her.
“Wait.”
He inspected the locker.
“No wires.”
“No device.”
“You can tell?”
“I’ve had an unusual education.”
Elena opened it.
Inside sat a battered metal case.
Nothing else.
Dante removed it.
They carried it to a secure maintenance room Marcus had arranged.
The case contained documents.
Hundreds.
Photographs.
Copies of checks.
Shipping manifests.
Bank transfers.
Names.
Elena turned pages slowly.
Dante became increasingly pale.
“This is my father’s handwriting.”
“What is this?”
“Payments.”
“To who?”
Dante looked at the list.
“Judge Ralston.”
“Police Commissioner Hale.”
“Senator Crewe.”
Elena stared.
“These people are still in office.”
“Some.”
She pulled another folder.
MICHAEL VANCE.
Her hands stopped.
Dante saw the name.
“Elena.”
She opened it.
Inside was a surveillance photograph of her father.
Michael Vance stood outside their old Queens apartment.
Elena remembered that coat.
Brown canvas.
He had worn it every winter.
Another photograph showed him entering a federal building.
A third showed him speaking to a man Elena did not recognize.
Beneath the photographs was a typed instruction.
VANCE HAS BECOME A LIABILITY.
HANDLE BEFORE FRIDAY.
Authorized: V. Vanel.
Elena stopped breathing.
“No.”
Dante took the page.
His face changed.
“My father…”
Elena looked at him.
“Ordered my father killed?”
“No.”
“The paper says—”
“The crane failed Tuesday.”
Dante’s eyes moved rapidly over the document.
“This order is dated Wednesday.”
Elena stared.
“After he died?”
“Yes.”
“So Vittorio didn’t know he was dead yet.”
Dante turned another page.
There was handwriting at the bottom.
Situation resolved independently. No action required.
— C.B.
Cardinal Bishop.
Elena’s skin went cold.
“Bishop knew Lucas sabotaged the crane.”
Dante nodded slowly.
“And he covered it.”
“Why?”
“Because exposing Lucas would expose the entire dock operation.”
Dante looked sick.
“He let me believe I caused those deaths.”
“For 11 years.”
“Yes.”
Elena sat.
The truth was worse and stranger than she had imagined.
Dante had been responsible for reckless decisions.
Lucas had sabotaged the cable.
Vittorio had planned to silence Michael.
Bishop had buried everything.
Every layer revealed another.
“Your father would have killed mine anyway.”
Elena whispered.
Dante said nothing.
Because there was nothing he could say.
Suddenly the lights went out.
Dante reacted instantly.
“Elena.”
His arm wrapped around her.
Marcus’s voice came through the earpiece.
“Power failure.”
“No.”
Dante pulled a pistol.
“Not a failure.”
Emergency lights appeared.
Red.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Dante pushed Elena behind a concrete column.
“Stay.”
“Dante—”
“Please.”
The word stopped her.
Not an order.
A plea.
The door opened.
A man entered.
Dante struck before the man raised his weapon.
A brutal impact.
The pistol fell.
Dante drove him into the wall.
Another man appeared.
Marcus fired from the corridor.
The attacker collapsed.
People screamed somewhere in the terminal.
Alarms began sounding.
Dante grabbed the first man by his collar.
“Who sent you?”
The man smiled through blood.
“You know.”
Dante pressed the gun beneath his jaw.
“Say it.”
“Bishop.”
Elena stepped forward.
“Dante.”
He looked at her.
Something old lived in his face.
The man he had been before her.
The man capable of killing without hesitation.
“Don’t.”
Dante stared at the attacker.
Then released him.
The man fell.
“Police can have him.”
Marcus looked surprised.
So did Elena.
Dante stood.
His breathing slowed.
“You wanted me to become something else.”
He looked at her.
“I’m trying.”
Sirens approached.
Marcus gathered the documents.
“We need to move.”
They exited through a service corridor.
Twenty minutes later, they were inside the SUV.
Elena held the folder containing her father’s photographs.
Dante sat beside her.
“What do we do with this?”
She asked.
Dante stared at the city.
The evidence could destroy judges.
Politicians.
Police officers.
Businesses.
His own organization.
Everything his father had built.
May you like
He reached for Elena’s hand.
“We burn the empire.”
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