Chapter 85 - The Fall of the Patriarch
The air exploded.
Vincent didn't draw his pistol on Lorenzo; he drew on Valerie. In one seamless, blinding motion, he fired two rounds directly into her chest. Valerie gasped, her eyes flying wide in utter shock as the kinetic force threw her backward against the vault wall, sliding down into a lifeless heap of designer wool and crimson.
At the exact same instant, I threw myself across the granite table, scooping Maya into my arms and dragging her down beneath the heavy stone slab as the four executioners opened fire.
The sound of automatic gunfire inside the enclosed concrete vault was deafening. Bullets chewed into the edges of the granite table, sending razor-sharp fragments of stone spraying across the floor.
Vincent dropped to one knee behind the corner of the table, his right arm working with mechanical, lethal efficiency. He didn't fire in wild bursts; he fired in rhythmic, calculated pairs.
*Crack-crack.* The first executioner took two rounds to the center of his chest and dropped.
*Crack-crack.* The second gunman fell backward, his weapon clattering across the floor.
Lorenzo, realizing his absolute control was disintegrating into slaughter, lunged across the terminal, his hand reaching for an emergency manual override switch set into the wall that would seal the vault doors and flood the room with halon gas, suffocating everyone inside.
"Vincent!" I screamed, shielding Maya with my entire body as the third gunman pivoted toward us.
Vincent didn't hesitate. He deliberately stepped out from behind the cover of the granite table, exposing his entire uninjured flank to draw the fire. Three rounds tore through his side and thigh, spinning him violently, but he held his stance, raising his weapon and putting a single hollow-point bullet through the throat of the third shooter.
The fourth guard turned to flee toward the open vault door, but Vincent's final round took him in the back of the head, dropping him instantly across the threshold.
Silence fell over the vault, thick, suffocating, and reeking of cordite and blood.
Lorenzo stood frozen by the emergency console, his hand hovering inches from the halon lever. His tailored suit was spattered with the blood of his own men. For the first time in his life, the great patriarch of the De Marco family looked ancient, frail, and utterly defeated.
Vincent leaned heavily against the edge of the granite table, bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds, his breath coming in wet, ragged gasps. He raised his pistol, leveling the smoking barrel directly between his father's eyes.
"It's over, Father," Vincent rasped, his voice dripping with absolute finality.
Lorenzo stared down the barrel of his son's gun, his jaw working silently before a cold, hateful smile stretched across his lips. "You think you’ve won, Vincent? Look at the terminal."
I turned my head from beneath the table, clutching a terrified Maya to my chest.
On the screen, the green confirmation window had vanished. In its place, a massive digital countdown timer was ticking backward from sixty seconds in bright, crimson numbers:
*SYSTEM OVERRIDE DETECTED.*
*FAIL-SAFE PROTOCOL 7 ACTIVATED: BIOMETRIC ASSET TRANSFER REDIRECTED.*
*PRIMARY RECIPIENT: UNKNOWN EXTERNAL NODE.*
*SOURCE LOCATION: PALERMO SUB-SECTOR B.*
Vincent's eyes widened in disbelief. "What did you do?"
"I didn't do that," Lorenzo whispered, genuine terror flashing across his weathered face for the very first time. "Julian... Julian didn't program that fail-safe."
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From the terminal's speakers, a synthesized audio feed connected, broadcasting a smooth, familiar voice that made the blood run completely cold in my veins.
"Thank you for unlocking the archive, Vincent," the voice said, warm, cultured, and undeniably alive. "Father was always too predictable to finish the job. Bring my daughter home."
