Chapter 9 - The federal investigation did not destroy Vincent Rossi overnight.
Reality was slower.
More bureaucratic.
More exhausting.
Lawyers filled conference rooms.
Accountants carried boxes.
Agents requested documents.
Subpoenas multiplied.
Newspapers discovered enough to produce dramatic headlines without possessing enough facts to explain them.
Harper learned to hate cameras.
Photographers appeared outside Della’s.
One shouted questions about organized crime while Harper carried a garbage bag to the dumpster.
She told him the soup special was chicken noodle.
The quote appeared online.
MIRIAM DELLA’S WAITRESS MOCKS FEDERAL PROBE.
Miriam printed the article and hung it beside the register.
Business increased.
Vincent found none of this funny.
He wanted Harper away from reporters.
Harper reminded him that reporters did not carry suppressed handguns.
He answered that reputations could also kill.
She answered that his reputation had been trying for months.
They argued.
Normal life, Harper realized, was partly the ability to argue about new things.
Gabriel’s audit uncovered crimes Vincent knew about.
It also uncovered several he did not.
His father had created funds connected to judges, union officials, and police officers.
Matteo maintained some relationships after Antonio’s death.
Vincent inherited the infrastructure without examining every piece.
That excuse did not make him innocent.
He understood that.
For the first time, he began saying it aloud.
“I should have known.”
Harper never answered with reassurance.
Sometimes he should have.
That truth mattered more than comfort.
In April, Vincent’s attorneys negotiated with federal prosecutors.
The terms were brutal.
Vincent would surrender control of multiple companies.
Apex Logistics would undergo independent oversight.
Several illegal businesses would be dissolved permanently.
Vincent would provide financial records implicating former associates.
In exchange, prosecutors would consider reduced charges based on cooperation and the absence of evidence connecting him directly to several historic violent crimes.
Nothing was guaranteed.
The word cooperation created another danger.
Men who once feared Vincent began believing he might speak.
Rumors spread.
He was betraying the code.
He was becoming an informant.
Vincent refused to provide information about crimes committed solely by others unless they involved his companies or ongoing threats.
Federal prosecutors disliked the limitation.
His former associates disliked that he provided anything.
He occupied the worst possible territory.
Between worlds.
Arthur increased security.
Harper noticed.
Vincent pretended nothing changed.
Then, on a Wednesday evening, Nico Falco disappeared.
His car was found near the river.
Empty.
Blood marked the driver’s seat.
Vincent received the call while having dinner with Harper and Lydia at Oak Creek.
He stood.
Harper saw the truth immediately.
“What?”
Vincent looked at Lydia.
She sighed.
“I’m old, not stupid.”
He told them.
Nico had worked for the Rossi family for eighteen years.
He was violent.
Sarcastic.
Impatient.
He also sent his mother flowers every Sunday.
Harper liked him despite herself.
Vincent left.
Harper followed.
He turned in the hallway.
“No.”
She stopped.
“You’re not doing this again.”
“This is not your fight.”
“Nico risked his life at Oak Creek.”
“He did his job.”
“He’s my friend.”
Vincent stared.
Harper had never said that before.
Perhaps she had not realized it until now.
Nico was obnoxious.
But he had become part of the strange collection of people surrounding her life.
Arthur.
Gabriel.
Miriam.
Even Vincent’s terrifying driver, Luis, who secretly carried dog biscuits because every stray animal seemed to love him.
“Fine,” Vincent said.
Harper blinked.
“That easy?”
“No.”
They left together.
Gabriel traced Nico’s phone to an abandoned Halcyon property.
One of Matteo’s old purchases.
A warehouse near the rail yard.
Vincent recognized the message.
The past was using its own ruins.
Arthur prepared a team.
Federal investigators were informed indirectly through Vincent’s attorney.
Harper asked why.
Vincent looked at her.
“Because I am tired of cleaning blood before police arrive.”
That sentence told her how much had changed.
They approached the warehouse before midnight.
Harper remained in an armored vehicle.
This time she did not argue.
Growth worked both directions.
She did not need to enter every dangerous room to prove she was not weak.
Vincent kissed her once before leaving.
“If I tell you to go—”
“I go.”
He studied her.
“Immediately.”
“Yes.”
“No arguing.”
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
He almost smiled.
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
Twenty minutes passed.
Harper hated every second.
Arthur’s voice occasionally sounded through the radio.
Movement.
North entrance.
Clear.
Second floor.
Nothing.
Then gunfire erupted.
Harper froze.
The driver started the engine.
More shots.
Shouting.
Static.
Harper gripped the seat.
Vincent’s voice came through.
“Found Nico.”
Alive.
Harper closed her eyes.
Then another voice.
Unknown.
“You should have stayed your father’s son.”
Harper opened her eyes.
The radio remained live.
Vincent answered.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who remembers what Rossi meant.”
The man identified himself as Dominic Calabrese.
Harper had heard the name.
A rival family with operations east of the city.
Matteo had apparently promised them territory in exchange for support.
Matteo was gone.
The promise remained.
Dominic had taken Nico because he wanted Vincent to withdraw cooperation and restore the old arrangement.
Otherwise every man connected to Vincent became a target.
Harper listened.
Vincent’s voice remained calm.
“You kidnapped Nico to negotiate?”
“I kidnapped Nico to remind you what weakness costs.”
A long pause.
Then Nico’s voice, faint and furious.
“Tell him his mother dresses him funny.”
Gunfire exploded again.
Harper almost laughed from pure panic.
The radio died.
The driver received an instruction through his earpiece.
“Ma’am, we’re leaving.”
“Vincent?”
“Arthur ordered evacuation.”
Harper’s stomach dropped.
She remembered her promise.
Go immediately.
“Drive.”
The vehicle accelerated.
They had traveled less than two blocks when an SUV appeared from a side street.
It struck them broadside.
Metal screamed.
Harper’s head hit the window.
The armored vehicle spun.
Her seat belt locked painfully across her chest.
The driver cursed.
Another impact.
Airbags exploded.
Harper tasted blood.
The rear door was pulled.
Locked.
Someone struck the glass.
The driver reached for a weapon.
A shot punched through the damaged windshield.
He slumped.
Harper screamed.
The rear window cracked.
Not penetrated.
Armored glass.
Another vehicle blocked the road.
Men emerged.
Harper fumbled for her phone.
No signal.
Jammer.
Of course.
She looked around.
The driver breathed.
Alive.
Shoulder wound.
“Luis.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I noticed.”
He handed her a small emergency radio.
“Button three.”
Harper pressed it.
Static.
“Arthur?”
Nothing.
She tried again.
“Arthur.”
A voice.
Weak.
“Harper?”
Relief nearly destroyed her.
“We were hit.”
“Location?”
She looked through shattered glass.
Street signs.
“Mercer and Fifteenth.”
“Stay inside.”
Gunfire struck the vehicle.
Harper ducked.
Arthur continued.
“Vincent is coming.”
Of course he was.
Harper wanted to scream at him not to.
That was exactly what the attackers wanted.
They could not break the vehicle quickly.
But they did not need to.
Smoke began seeping through the hood.
Luis swore.
“Engine fire.”
Harper stared.
The attackers stepped back.
They were waiting.
Force her out.
She remembered Matteo’s words.
Calculated pressure.
She looked at Luis.
“Can you drive?”
“Not this.”
“Can you run?”
“With enthusiasm.”
Harper almost laughed.
The smoke thickened.
They could not remain.
Arthur’s voice shouted through the radio.
“Do not exit.”
“We’re on fire.”
Silence.
Then Vincent.
“Harper.”
His voice.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m here.”
“How much smoke?”
“Enough.”
“You have an emergency release beneath the rear seat.”
Harper found it.
“You exit on the passenger side. There is an alley eleven feet behind you.”
“How do you know?”
“I know the street.”
Of course.
“Vincent.”
“Yes.”
“They’re waiting.”
“I know.”
She heard gunshots through the radio.
Closer.
Vincent was coming.
“No.”
“Harper.”
“Don’t trade yourself.”
Silence.
“Do you hear me?”
His voice became very quiet.
“Yes.”
“I’m not your weakness.”
“No.”
“Then don’t act like I am.”
Another pause.
Then Vincent said, “On my signal.”
Harper helped Luis unfasten his belt.
The attackers approached.
Five.
Maybe six.
Vincent’s people were somewhere beyond them.
Harper listened.
Three seconds felt like an hour.
“Now.”
Harper pulled the release.
The damaged rear door opened.
She and Luis fell onto the pavement.
Gunfire erupted from both ends of the street.
Harper crawled.
Luis pushed her toward the alley.
A man appeared around the vehicle.
Harper froze.
Before he could raise his weapon, Arthur struck him from the side.
They crashed against a parked car.
“Move!”
Harper dragged Luis.
They reached the alley.
Vincent appeared.
He ran toward her.
Harper had never seen him run.
Not walk quickly.
Not stride.
Run.
He grabbed her.
“Where are you hurt?”
“Nowhere.”
“Blood.”
“My lip.”
“Luis?”
“Shoulder.”
Vincent looked toward the street.
Arthur’s men had secured two attackers.
Others fled.
Dominic Calabrese was among them.
Nico had been rescued from the warehouse.
Alive.
Vincent held Harper’s face.
His hands shook.
Again.
Just like the alley months earlier.
But something was different.
Vincent did not immediately order retaliation.
He called his attorney.
Then the police.
Harper stared.
“You called the police.”
“I am experimenting.”
“Do you feel okay?”
“No.”
She kissed him.
Sirens approached.
Real sirens.
Public.
Uncontrolled.
Vincent remained there when they arrived.
He did not disappear.
He gave a statement through counsel.
Weapons recovered from the attackers were turned over.
Two prisoners became defendants instead of bodies.
Dominic escaped.
But not for long.
Federal agents arrested him forty-eight hours later after information from the warehouse tied him to Nico’s kidnapping and several other crimes.
Vincent never touched him.
The city noticed.
More importantly, Vincent’s remaining men noticed.
Some mocked it.
Some hated it.
Most understood the message.
The Rossi organization was changing because Vincent commanded it to change.
Not because Harper asked.
Not because prosecutors demanded.
Because the man at the center had finally decided fear was too expensive.
Two weeks later, Vincent received the federal offer.
He read it in his study.
Harper sat opposite him.
Plea to financial racketeering and conspiracy charges.
Forfeiture of multiple assets.
Five years of supervised restrictions.
Potential sentence.
Eighteen months.
Harper stared at the number.
Prison.
Not theoretical anymore.
Vincent watched her.
“You can say it.”
“What?”
“That you didn’t sign up for this.”
Harper stood.
She walked around the desk.
Then she hit him lightly on the back of the head.
Vincent stared at her.
“What was that?”
“For being repetitive.”
“Harper.”
“You’ve asked me to leave approximately thirty times.”
“I am giving you choices.”
“No. You’re trying to choose rejection before somebody can reject you.”
Vincent became still.
The truth landed.
Harper sat on the desk.
“Take the deal.”
He looked at the papers.
“I lose Apex.”
“Most of it.”
“My father built it.”
“Your father built lots of things that seem to be causing problems.”
He almost smiled.
Harper touched his hand.
“Eighteen months isn’t nothing.”
“No.”
“I will hate it.”
“Yes.”
“You will hate it more.”
“Yes.”
“And when you come back?”
Vincent looked at her.
Harper shrugged.
“We figure out who you are without an empire.”
His eyes filled with something she rarely saw.
May you like
Hope frightened Vincent Rossi more than guns ever had.
He signed.
