Chapter 8 - The Falling of the Guard
The extraction of Julian Vance was silent and flawless, completed before the first movement of the orchestra’s waltz had even finished. By midnight, the private jet belonging to the Russo family was climbing into the dark sky above JFK, routing back to the secure hangar in Boston.
Inside the luxurious leather cabin of the jet, Julian Vance was bound to a chair, his navy suit ruined by sweat, his face pale with a desperate terror as Dante stood over him.
"I’ll talk! I’ll talk, Dante, please!" Vance screamed, his voice cracking as Silas adjusted a pair of heavy leather restraints around his wrists. "It wasn't my idea! Charles Wellington paid me two million dollars to synthesize the compound! He said if we took out Leo, you would lose your focus... you would let the northern docks go to clear your grief!"
Dante didn't say a word. He stood by the window of the jet, a glass of scotch in his hand, looking out at the white clouds passing beneath the moon. The absolute coldness radiating from him was staggering, a monument to the ancient, unyielding justice of his family name.
"And my brother?" Dante asked, his voice low. "Dr. Abraham Vance? Did he know?"
"No! Abraham didn't know anything!" Julian sobbed. "I switched the medication vials in his briefcase before he left for your estate! I knew he would use the standard protocol, and I knew the stimulant would accelerate the paralysis! It was supposed to look like a natural medical failure!"
Anna sat in the leather armchair across the cabin, her emerald dress draped around her legs, her hands curled tightly into her lap. Hearing the cold, mathematical precision of the plot to murder an eight-year-old child made her sick to her stomach, but looking at Dante, she felt no fear. She only felt a deep, profound respect for the father who had torn through an entire state to protect his blood.
Dante turned around, his slate-gray eyes locking onto Julian Vance with an expression of total, absolute vacancy.
"Silas," Dante commanded smoothly. "When we land, deliver Dr. Vance to the federal prosecutor’s office in Boston. Along with the digital recordings of this conversation and the corporate ledgers we extracted from the Chelsea site. Let the government handle the Wellingtons’ public ruin. I have a family to take care of."
"Yes, Boss," Silas said, bowing his head.
Dante walked over to Anna’s seat, kneeling on the carpeted floor in front of her just as he had done in the library weeks ago. He took her hands in his, his large, scarred palms wrapping around her shivering fingers with a warmth that instantly drove away the chill of the cabin.
"It’s over, Anna," he whispered, his voice rich and soft, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made the entire world outside the plane disappear. "The Wellingtons are being arrested by the federal marshals as we speak. Their licenses are gone. Their family name is finished."
"And us, Dante?" Anna asked, her voice trembling slightly as she used the word us for the first time. "What happens to the delivery girl now?"
Dante reached up, his long fingers gently cupping her chin, his thumb smoothing the skin of her jawline.
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"The delivery girl is gone, Anna," he murmured, his face moving closer until his warm breath hit her lips. "You are the woman who saved my son. You are the person who cleared the darkness from my home. I don't want a consultant anymore. I want you. By my side. For the rest of my life."
He leaned in, his mouth finding hers in a deep, lingering, and fiercely possessive kiss that tasted of champagne, altitude, and a permanent, beautiful promise.
