*“Make sure the drop looks like an industrial accident,”* Richard Sterling’s voice played through the speakers, sharp, cold, and unmistakable. *“Bennett has become a liability. He knows too much about the Sterling Trust’s offshore holdings, and he’s asking questions about the girl in Pine Ridge. Push him off the top deck during the late shift. Make sure the fuel line leaks so there’s a fire. I want nothing left of him.”*
The hitman’s voice replied: *“Understood, Mr. Sterling. Consider it done.”*
Vincent closed the laptop with a quiet click.
“That recording has already been transmitted to the United States Attorney’s Office for the Northern District of Illinois,” Vincent said. “Along with the full forensic banking logs proving you embezzled eighty million dollars from the Moretti foundation to pay for your political bribes.”
Richard’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“You took four years of my daughter’s life,” Vincent said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “You made my wife live in a frozen cabin in Canada thinking I wanted her dead. You murdered a brave young man whose only crime was having a conscience. And you tried to force his pregnant widow to miscarry on my stairs.”
“Vincent… please,” Richard gasped, breaking into a desperate sob. “I’m old. I’ll die in prison. Think of Vanessa! She loved you!”
“Vanessa is currently in the custody of federal marshals,” Vincent said coldly. “She signed a full confession ten minutes ago in exchange for avoiding a life sentence. She gave you up, Richard. Just like you gave up everyone who ever trusted you.”
Vincent turned his back on him and walked toward the heavy steel door.
“Enjoy the rest of your life in a supermax facility,” Vincent said, never looking back. “Because every guard in that prison knows who Daniel Bennett was. And they know what you did.”
The door slammed shut. The deadbolts clicked into place.
The private airfield in Waukegan was blanketed in a fresh layer of pure white snow when Vincent’s Gulfstream touched down at midnight.
Dr. Harris had strictly forbidden me from traveling, but nothing on earth could have kept me in that bed. Vincent had personally wrapped me in a thick cashmere blanket, lifted me into the back of his heated Maybach, and brought me to the tarmac.
The jet’s engines wound down into a low, rumbling whine. The air was crisp, freezing, and clean.
The hydraulic stairs lowered slowly.
At the top of the stairs stood Elena Moretti.
She wore an oversized wool coat, her long dark hair whipping in the winter wind. She looked thin, her face etched with the pain of four years of isolation, but her eyes—warm, deep, and brilliant—were alive.
In her arms, bundled in a bright yellow snowsuit, was a four-year-old girl with dark curly hair and sparkling blue eyes.
Vincent stood beside my wheelchair on the tarmac. His entire body was shaking. He looked like a man who was seeing a miracle after walking through hell.
Elena descended the stairs slowly, one step at a time, her eyes locked onto Vincent.
When her boots touched the snowy tarmac, she stopped.
Vincent took three long strides forward. He fell to his knees in the snow before them.
“Elena,” he choked out.
Elena dropped to her knees beside him, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face into his coat.
“I’m sorry,” she wept, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, his hair. “I’m so sorry I ran, Vincent. I was so scared. I didn’t know who to trust.”
“You’re home,” Vincent sobbed, his large arms encircling both her and the little girl. “You’re home. Nobody will ever touch you again. I swear it. I swear it on my life.”
Little Grace peered out from her hood, blinking at the big man crying against her mother’s shoulder. She reached out a small, mittened hand and patted Vincent’s wet cheek.
“Are you my daddy?” she asked softly.
Vincent looked up at her, his face radiant through his tears. “Yes, Grace. I’m your daddy. And I love you more than all the stars in the sky.”
Grace smiled, a tiny dimple showing in her left cheek. She held up a small, weathered piece of carved pine. It was a little rabbit, smoothed down by years of being held in small hands.
“Uncle Daniel gave me this,” Grace whispered. “He said my daddy was looking for me. He said my daddy was the strongest man in the world.”
Vincent touched the small wooden carving, kissing the top of Grace’s head. “Daniel was the strongest man in the world, sweetheart. Not me.”
Elena looked past Vincent’s shoulder, her eyes finding mine where I sat in the wheelchair, tears freezing on my cheeks.
Elena gently set Grace down in the snow, walked over to me, and fell to her knees before my chair.
