Chapter 9 - THE FATHER OF THE BRIDEVictor Ashford agreed to meet Camille at 10:00 p.m.
The second hit the refrigerator.
The third never came.
Lorenzo’s security vehicle rounded the tree line and forced Deluca’s SUV backward.
Matteo fired once at a tire.
The vehicle spun.
Deluca disappeared behind it.
“Move!” Nora shouted.
They escaped through the rear entrance carrying the documents.
Elena ran beside Lorenzo.
He kept one hand behind her back, guiding her toward the armored vehicle.
Another shot cracked.
Lorenzo stumbled.
Elena screamed.
He caught himself against the SUV.
Blood spread across his sleeve.
“Lorenzo!”
“Graze.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“Very observant.”
Even then.
Even now.
She nearly hit him.
Instead she pushed him inside.
Matteo drove.
Nora returned fire only long enough to force the attackers down.
Then they were gone.
Twenty miles later, Elena examined Lorenzo’s arm.
The bullet had torn through the outer muscle.
Painful.
Not catastrophic.
“You need stitches.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I remember.”
Their eyes met.
Eight years disappeared for half a second.
Then Lena called from the secure house.
Elena answered immediately.
“I’m okay, sweetheart.”
“Is Lorenzo okay?”
Elena glanced at him.
“He’s being stubborn.”
Lena sounded relieved.
“So he’s normal?”
Matteo laughed from the front seat.
Lorenzo frowned.
“Everyone’s very funny today.”
The attack changed the investigation.
Rebecca Sloan could no longer pretend the conspiracy was contained.
She assembled a small outside team through the Justice Department inspector general.
Pierce was placed under secret surveillance.
Victor Ashford remained publicly untouched.
The goal was simple.
Make him believe he was winning.
For three days, Lorenzo disappeared from public view.
News outlets reported he had left Chicago.
Elena and Lena stayed at a safe property outside the city.
Adrian remained hospitalized under another name.
Camille appeared on television with her father.
She cried.
Beautifully.
She claimed a disgruntled catering worker had disrupted her wedding and that “dangerous individuals” were exploiting the confusion to blackmail her family.
Elena watched the interview once.
Then turned it off.
“She’s good.”
Lorenzo sat beside her with his bandaged arm.
“She’s terrified.”
“She doesn’t look terrified.”
“People like Camille learn early that fear is only useful if someone else can see it.”
Elena looked at him.
“Did you?”
“Learn that?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“How young?”
“Ten.”
She wanted to ask more.
She did not.
Lena ran into the room carrying a drawing.
It showed three people and a dog.
Elena.
Lena.
Lorenzo.
Roman.
Lorenzo stared at it for too long.
“Where’s Matteo?” he asked.
Lena shrugged.
“He doesn’t live here.”
Matteo, standing in the doorway, looked offended.
Lena giggled.
For the first time since the wedding, Elena laughed freely.
Lorenzo watched her.
Something changed.
Not suddenly.
Not dramatically.
But undeniably.
He had spent years living in rooms where everyone needed something from him.
Money.
Protection.
Fear.
Status.
Elena needed none of it.
She demanded promises.
Argued with him.
Told him when he was wrong.
And Lena treated him as if he were simply a man who owned a friendly dog.
He found that dangerously comforting.
That evening, Nora arrived with news.
“We found Mateo.”
Elena stood so quickly her chair fell backward.
“Where?”
“Detroit.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see him?”
Nora hesitated.
Elena’s face changed.
“What?”
“He doesn’t want to come in.”
“Why?”
“He’s still working with Samuel Crane.”
“Crane is a trafficker.”
“Maybe not.”
Nora opened a file.
“Crane helped build the network originally.”
Elena stared.
“So he’s guilty.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“About seven years ago, something changed.”
“What?”
“His daughter disappeared.”
Lorenzo understood first.
“One of Victor’s shipments?”
Nora nodded.
“Crane’s daughter discovered what they were doing. Victor had her killed.”
Elena whispered, “So Crane turned.”
“He began collecting evidence.”
“And Mateo?”
“Helped him.”
“Why didn’t they go public?”
“Pierce.”
The red ring.
Every attempt to report the network had been redirected back into the hands of the network itself.
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“What does Mateo want?”
“To finish this himself.”
Elena shook her head.
“No.”
“He believes Victor is preparing to leave the country.”
“Then arrest him.”
“We need evidence tying him directly to the trafficking operation.”
“You have ledgers.”
“Defense attorneys will call them fabricated.”
“Shipping manifests?”
“Corporate records.”
“Witnesses?”
“Crane is compromised. Mateo hid for eight years.”
Elena became angry.
“So what do you need?”
“A confession.”
Silence.
Lorenzo looked at Nora.
“You want to wire someone.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Nora glanced at Elena.
Lorenzo immediately stood.
“No.”
Elena stared at him.
“You don’t decide.”
“No.”
“Lorenzo.”
“Absolutely not.”
Nora raised both hands.
“I didn’t say Elena.”
“Then who?”
Nora’s expression became grim.
“Camille.”
Everyone stared.
Elena laughed in disbelief.
“You think she’ll cooperate?”
“Not voluntarily.”
Lorenzo understood.
“You have something on her.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Nora opened another folder.
“Camille has been transferring money into a private account for two years.”
“How much?”
“Fourteen million dollars.”
“From her father?”
“Yes.”
Elena frowned.
“So?”
“So she was preparing to run.”
Lorenzo smiled faintly.
“Daddy’s little girl doesn’t trust Daddy.”
“Exactly.”
They confronted Camille the following night.
Not in a police station.
At a private attorney’s office.
Rebecca Sloan sat beside Nora.
Camille arrived with two lawyers.
She looked at Elena with hatred.
Then at Lorenzo with something closer to fear.
Nora placed the financial records on the table.
Camille’s lawyer stopped smiling.
“Your father knows about none of these accounts,” Nora said.
Camille remained silent.
“If he discovers you stole fourteen million dollars from him, how long do you think you live?”
Camille’s face twitched.
“You’re threatening me.”
“No.”
Nora leaned forward.
“I’m describing your father.”
Camille looked at Elena.
“This is her fault.”
Elena stared back.
“No.”
Her voice was calm.
“This is yours.”
Camille’s composure cracked.
“You have no idea what my father is like.”
“I know exactly what he’s like.”
“He owns everyone.”
“Not anymore.”
Camille looked at Lorenzo.
“You think he’ll save you?”
Elena replied before Lorenzo could.
“I saved myself for eight years.”
Lorenzo hid a smile.
Nora pushed a recording device across the table.
“We need Victor on tape.”
Camille stared at it.
“And if I refuse?”
Rebecca Sloan answered.
“Conspiracy. Obstruction. Attempted kidnapping. Assault. Financial crimes.”
Camille’s face went pale.
“How many years?”
“Enough.”
Camille looked at the recorder again.
Then whispered, “If I do this, I want immunity.”
“No.”
Her head snapped up.
“Reduced charges,” Rebecca said.
“You don’t walk away.”
Camille looked around the room.
No father.
No wedding guests.
No powerful friends.
For the first time in her life, she was alone.
Her voice came out small.
“What do I have to do?”
May you like
Lorenzo leaned back.
And somewhere in Chicago, Victor Ashford unknowingly began counting down the last hours of his freedom.
