Chapter 8 - The Ashes of the PastThe smoke inside the abandoned slaughterhouse drifted slowly toward the shattered skylights, mixing with the cold river fog rolling in from the outside.
Arthur Vance slumped against the concrete pillar, sliding down until he sat in the dust, his expensive silk tie ruined and his breath coming in ragged gasps. The incriminating federal transfer files, the secret communications with Marcone, and the forged warrants lay scattered across the floor around him like autumn leaves.
“You won't get away with this,” Vance muttered, glaring up at Adrian through bloodshot eyes. “The Department of Justice knows I came here. When I don't check in by morning—clockwork—”
“Your department won't be looking for you, Arthur,” Adrian interrupted, his voice devoid of any human warmth. He pulled a small, secure burner phone from his pocket and tossed it onto Vance’s lap. “Take a look at the screen.”
Vance trembling fingers picked up the device. The screen displayed a live federal wiretap transcript—not of a police dispatch, but of an internal ethics investigation launched thirty minutes ago by the U.S. Attorney General’s Office, triggered by an anonymous, ironclad data drop detailing Vance’s collusion with organized crime syndicates in Cicero.
Vance’s jaw dropped. “No... no, that’s impossible. I buried those bank records in the Cayman accounts—how did you—”
“You’re not the only one who knows how to read a ledger, Arthur,” Adrian said coldly. “You spent ten years trying to build a career on my name. Turns out, your own house was built on toothpicks.”
Marcus hauled Marcone up by his collar, dragging the groaning mobster across the concrete and dumping him unceremoniously beside the terrified prosecutor.
“What do you want to do with them, boss?” Marcus asked, checking the magazine of his sidearm. “The river is right outside. No one would ever find them in the current.”
Adrian looked down at the two men who had tried to tear his world apart—the corrupt lawman and the petty criminal. For a fleeting second, the old Adrian Moretti—the man who ruled Chicago with an iron fist of absolute terror—considered it. It would be so easy. A few splashes in the dark water, and the threat would vanish forever.
Then, faint and clear in his mind, he heard a little girl’s voice: “My mommy says the world remembers kind people. Sometimes it just takes a little while.”
Adrian exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly as the heavy weight of vengeance lifted from his chest.
“No,” Adrian said quietly. “We don't kill them.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Boss?”
“We let federal justice do what it’s supposed to do,” Adrian said, stepping back from Vance. “Call the FBI’s internal affairs division, Marcus. Give them the exact GPS coordinates of this warehouse. Tell them Prosecutor Arthur Vance is waiting with a confession and a box of stolen evidence.”
Vance stared up at him in sheer disbelief. “You’re... you’re turning me over to my own people? You know what they do to corrupt prosecutors in federal prison?”
“Exactly what you deserve,” Adrian said coldly. “Consider it your first honest sentence.”
He turned on his heel, walking away from the trembling men toward the exit where his black Lincoln waited in the shadows.
When Adrian opened the car door, the interior light flickered on.
Sofia was sitting in the front passenger seat, holding Emma in her arms. The little girl had fallen back asleep against her mother’s shoulder, her thumb tucked safely in her mouth, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep, untroubled peace.
Sofia looked up, her brown eyes searching Adrian’s face anxiously in the dim light. She saw no blood on his hands, no wild frenzy in his eyes—only a profound, exhausted stillness.
“Is it over?” she whispered.
Adrian slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door softly behind him so as not to wake the child. He started the engine, the V8 purring to life in the freezing night.
May you like
He turned to look at her, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time in four years—a smile that finally reached his eyes.
“Yeah, Sofia,” Adrian said softly, putting the car into gear and pulling away from the river toward home. “It’s over.”
