Chapter 19 - The Viper’s Message
Before Vincent could issue the mobilization order, the desk telephone rang with a shrill, piercing tone.
The line was private, encrypted, and known only to four people in the entire world.
Vincent reached out, pressing the speakerphone button. “Speak.”
*“Don Vincent Hale,”* a smooth, cultured voice with a faint French accent purred through the speaker. *“Or should I say... the newly domesticated Don of Chicago?”*
Vincent’s voice was pure ice. “Damien Voss.”
A low, sinister chuckle echoed from the phone. *“I see my reputation precedes me. How tragic that my foolish sister and senile father couldn't manage a simple coup. They let a kitchen maid outmaneuver them. Quite frankly, Vincent, they deserved to die for their incompetence.”*
Clara stepped closer to the desk, her voice unwavering. “If you think they were incompetent, Mr. Voss, why are you here?”
A sharp intake of breath sounded on the other end of the line, followed by an appreciative hum. *“Ah... the magnificent Donna Clara. The scullery girl with the blood of Thomas Ellis in her veins. You have no idea how long I have looked forward to speaking with you.”*
“Say what you came to say, Damien,” Vincent growled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the desk. “Before I send my men to turn your yacht into splinters.”
*“I didn't come for an open war, Vincent,”* Damien Voss purred smoothly. *“An open war is messy. It alerts the authorities. No... I came to give you an ultimatum. You hold my younger brother, Marcus Jr., in your cellar. You will release him to me at the Navy Pier promenade tonight at eight o'clock.”*
“And why on earth would I give you a living enemy?” Vincent sneered.
*“Because, dear Vincent,”* Damien’s voice turned deadly, dripping with venomous amusement, *“if you do not bring Marcus to Navy Pier tonight... the package I left in young Toby’s private school locker will detonate at eight-fifteen.”*
The world seemed to stop spinning.
Clara let out a strangled gasp, her hand flying to her chest, her face turning chalk-white.
Vincent’s entire body went rigid. The air in the office dropped to absolute zero. A demonic, apocalyptic fury twisted the mafia boss’s features into something no longer human.
“If you touch a single hair on my son’s head, Damien,” Vincent roared, his voice shaking the glass windows of the harbor office, “I will flay you alive in front of the entire city!”
*“Eight o'clock, Vincent,”* Damien Voss whispered softly. *“Come alone with my brother. Or watch your legacy turn to ash.”*
*CLICK.*
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The line went dead.
***