Chapter 45 - THE BROKEN CIPHER
The iron skillet connected with the side of the gunman's helmet with a sickening *clang*. The impact threw him off balance, his weapon discharging wildly into the ceiling rafters.
Before he could recover, Marco’s arm locked around the man's throat from behind, twisting violently until a sharp snap echoed over the fading gunfire. Marco shoved the limp body aside and kicked the dropped gun toward me.
"Down! In the vault, now!" Marco yelled, clutching his reopened shoulder wound.
Suddenly, an eerie silence settled over the snow. The gunfire outside had completely ceased.
Not because the attackers were dead, but because someone else had arrived.
Through the shattered doorway, the low rumble of a heavy diesel engine shook the cabin floorboards. High-powered spotlights flooded the ruined living room, pinning Marco in their glare.
"Marco," a deep, familiar voice commanded from the snowy yard outside. "Stand down."
My breath caught in my throat.
Vincent stepped through the splintered door frame.
His charcoal tailored coat was dusted with snow, his face streaked with grim exhaustion, but in his gloved right hand was a custom-barreled Colt .45, its slide locked back. Behind him stood eight heavily armed men wearing the silver-crested insignias of the Bennett Family vanguard.
"Vincent!" I sobbed, emerging from behind the counter, trembling violently as I cradled Hope against my chest.
His eyes found mine, and for a split second, the terrifying mob boss dissolved, replaced by a man looking upon the only thing that kept his soul anchored to this earth. He stepped over the bodies without looking down, closing the distance between us, his leather-clad fingers gently cupping the side of my face.
"Are you hurt?" his voice was unusually hoarse, thick with repressed emotion. "The baby?"
"We're alive. Marco took shrapnel, but he saved us."
Vincent turned his head, locking eyes with his bleeding lieutenant. "You did well, brother. Get to the medical transport outside."
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"Vincent," Marco rasped, refusing to move. "Francesca... she’s alive. She was on the comms. She knew the codes to Daniel’s grid."
Vincent’s jaw tightened, the muscle ticking beneath his skin. "I know. We raided her safehouse in Manhattan twenty minutes ago. It was empty. She didn't just steal the codes, Marco. She has the remaining syndicate bosses gathered at the Grand Plaza Hotel right now. She’s claiming Daniel’s entire empire under her name."
