Chapter 7 - The Last WarAntonio Falcone disappeared two days after Dino’s arrest.
His properties were empty.
His known soldiers abandoned their apartments.
His legitimate businesses closed without warning.
The city became quiet.
Vincent hated quiet.
“Something is coming,” he said.
Clara stood beside him at the townhouse window.
“Maybe he ran.”
“No.”
“How can you know?”
“Because I would not run.”
Clara looked at him.
“That is not reassuring.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Daniel slept against Clara’s chest.
Six weeks had passed since his birth.
He had gained weight.
His eyes had become darker.
Vincent claimed they were Clara’s.
Clara insisted they were his.
It was the kind of disagreement ordinary parents had.
She treasured it.
Frankie entered carrying an envelope.
“This arrived downstairs.”
Vincent examined it.
No return address.
His name written by hand.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Clara recognized the Silver Spoon Diner.
Or what remained of it.
The building had burned during the Falcone attack.
Someone stood in front of the ruins.
Antonio Falcone.
He held a handwritten sign.
MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
Vincent turned the photograph over.
There was another sentence.
OR THE NURSE DIES.
Clara frowned.
“What nurse?”
Vincent’s face became still.
Then he understood.
“Dr. Keller’s nurse.”
The woman who had helped care for Clara and Daniel after the birth.
Her name was Emily.
Twenty-eight.
Recently engaged.
Completely innocent.
Clara’s stomach tightened.
“No.”
Vincent looked at Frankie.
“Find her.”
“Already checking.”
Five minutes later, Frankie returned.
“She did not report for work.”
Vincent reached for his coat.
Clara blocked him.
“No.”
“He has a hostage.”
“And wants you alone.”
“Yes.”
“That means he wants you dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then you cannot go.”
Vincent looked at her.
“If I do not, Emily dies because she helped us.”
“You cannot save everyone.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“But I can refuse to become the man who allows innocent people to pay his debts.”
Clara understood.
That frightened her more.
Because she agreed.
“Then you are not going alone.”
“I am.”
“Vincent.”
“No guns. No soldiers. Falcone will be watching.”
“Then call the police.”
“Frankie already contacted federal agents.”
Frankie nodded.
“They will establish distance surveillance.”
Clara looked between them.
“So you are walking into a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And everyone knows.”
“Yes.”
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she handed Daniel to Frankie.
Then she walked toward Vincent.
She took his face between her hands.
“If you die, I will never forgive you.”
“That seems unfair.”
“I am serious.”
“So am I.”
He placed his forehead against hers.
“I spent most of my life believing dying violently was inevitable.”
His voice became quiet.
“Now I am terrified of it.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“Good.”
Vincent looked confused.
“Good?”
“It means you finally have something you want more than power.”
She kissed him.
Not on the forehead.
Not as gratitude.
On the mouth.
Vincent froze.
Then his arms closed around her.
The kiss was not desperate.
It was familiar.
Painfully familiar.
A marriage, a divorce, eight months of separation, a child, and a destroyed empire existed inside it.
When Clara stepped back, Vincent looked stunned.
“That was not forgiveness,” she said.
“I know.”
“It was not reconciliation.”
“I know.”
“It was motivation.”
Vincent almost smiled.
“It was effective.”
“Come home.”
His expression softened.
“I will.”
At midnight, Vincent stood inside the ruins of the Silver Spoon.
Rain entered through the burned roof.
The counter where Clara had dropped the coffee pot was blackened.
Booths had become skeletal frames.
He remembered seeing her behind the counter.
Pregnant.
Exhausted.
Terrified.
That moment had destroyed his old life.
Antonio Falcone emerged from the kitchen.
Emily walked ahead of him.
Her wrists were tied.
Tape covered her mouth.
Falcone held a pistol against her back.
“You came.”
Vincent raised his hands.
“Release her.”
“You are in no position to negotiate.”
“I have what you want.”
Falcone smiled.
“What do I want?”
“Proof that I surrendered information to federal investigators.”
“Partly.”
“And?”
“Your humiliation.”
Vincent looked around.
“You burned a diner and kidnapped a nurse for emotional satisfaction?”
“You destroyed a system that existed before either of us was born.”
“No. I destroyed mine.”
“You destabilized everything.”
Falcone’s anger emerged.
“You created ambitious children with guns and no fathers controlling them.”
Vincent almost laughed.
“You are angry because I stopped being a criminal.”
“I am angry because you broke the rules.”
“There are no rules.”
Falcone’s face tightened.
“That is something young men say before old men bury them.”
Vincent looked at Emily.
She was crying silently.
“Let her leave.”
“First kneel.”
Vincent stared at Falcone.
“Kneel.”
Vincent slowly lowered himself.
His knees touched the burned floor.
Falcone smiled.
“Vincent Rossi.”
He savored the image.
“The king without a crown.”
Vincent said nothing.
“Your father would be disgusted.”
“My father was frequently disgusted.”
“You dishonor his name.”
“My son does not carry it.”
That struck Falcone harder than expected.
“What?”
“My son is Daniel Bennett.”
Falcone stared.
Vincent smiled.
“The Rossi dynasty ends with me.”
Falcone’s face twisted.
He pressed the gun harder against Emily.
“You think you can simply erase generations?”
“No.”
Vincent looked around the destroyed diner.
“I can refuse to continue them.”
Falcone removed the gun from Emily.
He aimed at Vincent.
“Then die with them.”
A shot exploded.
Clara screamed inside the surveillance van two blocks away.
Vincent fell.
Federal agents moved immediately.
The diner erupted with shouts.
Falcone fired again.
Agents returned fire.
Emily dropped to the floor.
Frankie pulled Clara backward from the van door.
“Stay here!”
“Vincent!”
She fought him.
Another burst of gunfire came from the diner.
Then silence.
Thirty seconds.
Forty.
A federal agent shouted through the radio.
“Falcone down.”
Clara stopped breathing.
“And Rossi?”
Static.
Then:
“Rossi is alive.”
Clara ran.
Nobody stopped her.
She entered the diner.
Vincent lay beside the ruined counter.
Blood spread beneath his shoulder.
A bullet had passed through the upper chest.
Paramedics worked around him.
His eyes opened when Clara reached him.
“You came.”
“You idiot.”
He smiled weakly.
“You kissed me.”
“That did not authorize you to get shot.”
“Unclear terms.”
She began crying.
Vincent raised his hand.
His fingers touched her cheek.
“Emily?”
“Alive.”
“Falcone?”
Clara looked toward the kitchen.
A sheet had been placed over a body.
“Dead.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Not in satisfaction.
In exhaustion.
“It is over.”
Clara held his hand.
“No.”
May you like
He looked at her.
“You still have to come home.”
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