Chương 7 - The Hunt
We left the safe house just as the sun began to rise over the Brooklyn skyline.
Enzo drove the armored Mercedes toward Queens with practiced, silent efficiency.
The tension in the back seat was incredibly thick.
I sat as far away from Dante as possible, pressing my shoulder against the cold glass window.
He had used me, spied on me, and manipulated my entire life.
Yet, when I looked at his bandaged shoulder, my heart still gave a treacherous flutter.
We pulled up to the abandoned Union Bank.
It was a crumbling stone fortress covered in graffiti and surrounded by a chain-link fence.
Enzo produced a pair of heavy bolt cutters and snapped the padlock off the front gate.
We slipped inside the dark, cavernous lobby of the ruined bank.
Dust motes danced in the pale morning light filtering through the shattered windows.
Dante led the way with a tactical flashlight, his pistol drawn.
We descended a sweeping marble staircase into the subterranean vault level.
The air grew immediately colder, smelling of mildew and old secrets.
We stopped in front of a massive, circular steel vault door.
It looked impenetrable.
Dante pointed to a rusted electronic keypad hidden behind a loose brick in the wall.
"Type it in," Dante instructed, stepping aside.
My hands were shaking as I reached out and punched the numbers my father had given me.
Seven. Four. Two. Nine.
A heavy mechanical clunk echoed through the silent basement.
Dante grabbed the massive steel wheel and turned it with all his remaining strength.
The vault door groaned violently and swung open.
We stepped inside the dark, metallic room.
Rows of safe deposit boxes lined the walls.
Dante walked directly to box number 7429.
He pulled a small crowbar from his jacket and wedged it into the lock.
With a sharp crack, the metal door popped open.
I held my breath, waiting to see the ledger that had caused so much death.
Dante reached inside and pulled out a small, black leather-bound book.
"We found it," Dante whispered, a rare look of pure relief washing over his face.
He turned to look at me, his dark eyes softening in the dim light.
"You did it, Clare."
Before I could process what was happening, he stepped forward and pulled me against his chest.
His lips crashed down onto mine with a desperate, consuming heat.
I should have pushed him away, but the adrenaline and fear completely overwhelmed my logic.
I kissed him back, tangling my fingers in his dark hair.
For one perfect, terrifying moment, the mafia war did not matter.
Suddenly, a loud, echoing laugh broke the silence of the vault.
We jumped apart, turning toward the open doorway.
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Salvatore Moretti was standing in the vault entrance, flanked by six heavily armed men.
"How incredibly romantic," Salvatore sneered, raising a silver pistol.
