Chapter 28 - The Hangar on the Ice
The private airstrip jutted out into Lake Michigan like a frozen finger, surrounded by dark, churning water and howling winter winds. A private Gulfstream jet sat on the tarmac, its twin engines whining as they warmed up, casting long, screaming heat waves across the snow-dusted concrete.
Inside Hangar 4, the air was freezing, smelling of aviation fuel, hydraulic fluid, and fresh blood.
A single spotlight illuminated the center of the vast, open space. Strapped to a heavy steel structural pillar was Dante.
His tuxedo shirt was completely shredded, soaked in blackening blood. Multiple bullet wounds marred his torso, and his face was battered beyond recognition, one eye swollen shut. Heavy iron chains bound his arms to the pillar behind him, pulling his shoulders out of their sockets. Yet, his head remained upright. His remaining eye burned with a lethal, demonic fury as he stared down the man standing ten feet in front of him.
Lucian Vance looked like Dante’s ghost twenty years into the future.
He possessed the exact same high cheekbones, the same brutal, carved jawline, the same broad shoulders—but his hair was shock-white, and a jagged scar ran from his right ear down into his open collar. He wore a pristine charcoal military overcoat and held a heavy silver cane topped with an engraved wolf’s head.
“You always had Arthur’s stubbornness, Dante,” Lucian said, his voice a gravelly, resonant baritone that sent chills through the rafters. “Arthur thought he could hide my lineage in a Chicago vault. He thought he could steal my seed, create the ultimate key to the Castiglione trust, and raise the girl as his own granddaughter.”
Dante spat a mouthful of dark blood directly onto the polished toes of Lucian’s leather boots.
“She isn’t yours,” Dante rasped, his voice raw and broken, yet vibrating with ferocious spite. “Her name is Clara Vance. And when I tear these chains off this pillar, I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”
Lucian chuckled softly, raising the silver cane and striking Dante across his shattered ribs. A sharp crack echoed through the hangar, but Dante only grunted, his gaze never leaving his uncle’s eyes.
“Such loyalty to a biological fiction,” Lucian sighed. “Ah. It seems the mother has arrived.”
The side door of the hangar was kicked open.
Julianna stumbled into the spotlight, her hands tied behind her back with industrial zip-ties, a deep crimson gash across her cheek. Behind her walked Marcus, carrying Mateo in the secure travel pod, and behind him walked me.
I held Clara wrapped tightly in my left arm against my chest. In my right hand was the Glock, locked directly onto the back of Julianna’s skull.
Dante’s eye widened. “Lena... no! Run!”
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“Silence,” Lucian ordered, turning to face me. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his scarred lips as his eyes settled on the dying infant in my arms. “Lena Vance. The vessel. You brought me my daughter.”
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