The heavy oak doors of the Moretti mansion swung wide open, letting in a sharp gust of Chicago wind. But the cold air outside was nothing compared to the chill that froze the blood in my veins.

When Vincent and I stepped inside, the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind us.

Julian Vance stood by the far wall, breathing heavily, his hands clenched into tight fists. He had discarded his charming politician persona; his face was twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage and terror.

"You're insane," Julian hissed, glaring at Vincent before shifting his venomous gaze onto me. "You’re both completely insane! Walking into my gala? Do you have any idea how many federal marshals are stationed outside this building right now?"

"More than a hundred, I'd imagine," Vincent replied casually, walking slowly into the room while keeping me safely behind him. "Your security is quite impressive, Julian. Almost as impressive as your offshore bank accounts in the Cayman Islands."

Julian’s eyes widened slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Vincent reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick manila folder, and tossed it carelessly onto the glass coffee table between them.

"David Miller was a thorough man," Vincent said smoothly. "Before your hit squad executed him in that alleyway tonight, his encrypted dead-man’s switch automatically uploaded every single financial ledger, shell corporation document, and video recording of your illegal operations directly to my secure servers—and to the federal grand jury."

Julian stared at the folder in horror. He lunged forward to grab it, but Vincent’s hand shot out, grabbing Julian by the collar of his expensive tuxedo and slamming him hard against the mahogany bookshelf behind him.

Books crashed to the floor. Julian choked out a gasp, his feet dangling slightly off the ground as Vincent’s powerful grip crushed his windpipe.

"You murdered David," I said, stepping forward from the shadows, my voice trembling with a rage I had buried for years. "You murdered an innocent man just to cover up your crimes."

Julian glared at me, a cruel, desperate sneer twisting his lips even as he suffocated. "He... he was a traitor... just like you... Elena... You should have stayed at the bottom of the lake..."

Vincent’s jaw clenched. The dark fury in his eyes reached a boiling point. He raised his free hand, ready to finish what Julian had started years ago—to wipe this monster off the face of the earth permanently.

"Vincent, wait," I whispered, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

Vincent paused, looking down at me.

"Don't soil your hands with his blood," I said, my voice steady and clear for the first time in years. "Let the law take him. The real law. Not the one he bought and paid for."

Vincent stared at me for a long moment, searching my eyes. Then, with a slow, controlled breath, he loosened his grip and dropped Julian onto the floor like a sack of garbage.

Julian crumpled onto the Persian rug, coughing violently, gasping for air as he clutched his bruised throat.

Before Julian could recover, the heavy double doors of the antechamber were blown wide open.

Dozens of armed federal agents—led by the Director of the FBI himself, who had long been on Vincent’s payroll—poured into the room, their weapons drawn.

"Senator Julian Vance," the FBI Director announced loudly, stepping forward and flashing a federal arrest warrant. "You are under arrest for racketeering, money laundering, human trafficking, and the contract murder of David Miller."

Julian looked up from the floor, his face pale with absolute defeat as handcuffs were slapped onto his wrists. As they dragged him away toward the doors, he turned his head, casting one final, venomous glare in my direction.