Chapter 6 - Shadows in the Vault
The convoy arrived back at the Beluchcci Tower under heavy escort.
Four black SUVs carrying Damian’s elite personal guard sealed the underground garage, while technical sweeps cleared every floor between the lobby and the sub-basement archive.
Norah walked beside Damian through the reinforced security doors of the archive, her emerald gown whispering against the cold stone floor. Don Moretti and two other Council elders followed closely behind, flanked by Vincent Vance and four of his personal enforcers.
The atmosphere in the subterranean room was suffocating.
The air still smelled faintly of the hydraulic fluid and old paper from the night before, but now it was charged with the threat of imminent violence. Every man in the room was armed, their hands never straying far from their coats.
"The vault," Vincent demanded, pointing his cane at the black steel door. "Open it, Miss Witman. Let us see this legendary ledger."
Norah stepped up to the massive safe. She felt Damian’s presence right behind her, a towering, protective wall of heat and iron.
She placed her palm against the glass scanner.
*Beep.*
The emerald light flared to life. The internal mechanisms clicked in rapid, rhythmic succession. The heavy door swung open, revealing the velvet-lined interior.
Don Moretti exhaled a ragged breath, crossing himself. "Lord have mercy."
Damian reached inside and pulled out the primary leather-bound ledger—the original book containing the handwritten founding compact of 1968. He laid it flat on the central reading table beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
"There it is," Damian said. "Signed by Salvatore Beluchcci, Julian Vance, and Victoria Ross."
Vincent approached the table, his eyes feverish. "And the secondary clause? The clause that gives the Ross heir administrative veto power?"
"Right here," Norah said, stepping beside the table. She opened the ledger to page forty-eight, pointing her manicured finger at a paragraph written in faded blue ink. "In the event of a dispute regarding clan leadership, the Ross heir holds sole authorization to audit the family accounts and liquidate unauthorized assets."
Vincent stared at the page. His hands began to shake—not with fear, but with consumed rage.
"You think you’ve won," Vincent whispered, his voice cracking with madness. "You think you can come into my city, wear your mother’s face, and strip me of thirty years of work?"
"It’s over, Vincent," Don Moretti said, placing a heavy hand on the younger man's shoulder. "The law of the families is absolute. The girl has the blood. She has the key. Damian has the muscle. Yield."
Vincent slowly looked up at Moretti. Then, he looked at his four enforcers standing near the door.
A cold, sickening smile spread across his face.
"The law of the families was written by old men who are already in the grave," Vincent whispered.
Before anyone could react, Vincent pulled a compact semi-automatic pistol from his tuxedo sleeve.
"Vincent, no!" Moretti screamed.
Vincent didn't aim at Damian. He aimed directly at Norah’s heart.
"If the bloodline dies tonight," Vincent roared, "the shares default to the Vance family!"
*Crack!*
The gunshot was deafening inside the enclosed concrete room.
Norah didn't feel the impact.
She felt herself being violently tackled to the floor, her breath knocked from her lungs as a heavy, muscular body shielded her from the blast. Damian landed on top of her, his arms wrapping around her head and shoulders, taking the full brunt of the shot.
A sharp, ragged grunt tore from his throat.
"Damian!" Norah screamed, her hands coming up to clutch his back. When she pulled them away, her fingers were covered in thick, warm, crimson blood.
Pandemonium erupted in the archive.
Luca and the Beluchcci guards opened fire instantly. Gunshots echoed off the steel shelves in a continuous, deafening roar. Vincent’s enforcers fired back, shattering the glass display cases and sending archival papers raining down like confetti.
"Damian! Look at me!" Norah cried, tears blinding her as she scrambled out from beneath him.
Damian was down on one knee, his left hand pressed against his ribs where the bullet had torn through his tuxedo. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his pristine white shirt a dark, sickening red. His face was pale, beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead, but his eyes were blazing with unholy fury.
"Norah..." he wheezed, his voice tight with agonizing pain. "Get... behind the safe."
"No! You’re bleeding!"
"Go!" he roared, drawing his Kimber .45 with his right hand.
Vincent was retreating toward the doorway, firing wildly behind him as his enforcers fell one by one beneath the disciplined return fire of Luca’s men.
"Kill them both!" Vincent screamed at his last surviving guard. "Blow the vault!"
The guard pulled a fragmentation grenade from his tactical vest, pulling the pin with his teeth.
"Grenade!" Luca yelled, diving behind a metal filing cabinet.
Norah’s mind moved with terrifying clarity.
She didn't run. She didn't hide. She lunged forward, grabbed the heavy leather-bound ledger from the table, and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy directly at the guard's face.
The heavy, five-pound book struck the man squarely across the eyes just as he went to throw the explosive. The grenade slipped from his fingers, bouncing across the stone floor toward the hallway outside the archive.
"Out!" Damian yelled, grabbing Norah by the arm with his uninjured hand and dragging her behind the open, twelve-inch-thick steel door of the vault.
He slammed his weight against the heavy door, pulling it shut just as the grenade detonated in the corridor.
*BOOM!*
The shockwave rattled the massive hinges, the sound reverberating through the steel with the force of an earthquake. Shrapnel tore into the exterior walls, but the vault’s reinforced plating held firm.
Inside the safe compartment, Damian collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor.
Norah dropped to her knees beside him, her gown ruined, her hands soaked in his blood.
"Damian... Damian, stay with me!" she begged, ripping the train of her emerald silk gown with trembling hands. She pressed the thick fabric against the wound beneath his ribs, applying frantic pressure. "Luca! We need a medic! Luca!"
Damian’s hand came up, weak and bloody, catching her wrist.
"Norah..." he whispered, his eyes struggling to stay focused on her face.
"Don't talk! Save your strength! You idiot... why did you jump in front of me?! I’m just your secretary!"
A faint, bloody smile touched Damian’s lips. "You... were never just my secretary."
His fingers slid down her wrist, intertwining with hers, before his eyes rolled back, and his head lolled to the side.
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"Damian!" Norah screamed, her voice breaking into a sob as she pressed her body against his wound. "Damian, don't you dare die on me! Do you hear me?! That’s an order!"
***
