Chapter 6 - The Long Drive to Greenport
The midnight air howling off the Hudson River had turned bitter and icy, but inside the lead black armored SUV speeding eastward across Long Island Sound, the atmosphere was burning hot with concentrated vengeance.
Four vehicles cut through the midnight darkness without headlights, running entirely on thermal and digital navigation arrays. Inside the lead vehicle, Vincent Moretti sat in the back seat, staring blankly at the cracked blue mobile phone he had confiscated from little Emily earlier that evening.
He had plugged it into a high-speed vehicle charger. The screen was lit up, displaying the metadata of the single voicemail file. The GPS ping embedded in the audio metadata pointed directly to an abandoned industrial stretch along the coastline of Greenport—an old fish-processing plant sitting on federal maritime lease land, long since abandoned on paper, but heavily fortified in reality.
Dominic sat in the passenger seat, loading a high-capacity magazine into a tactical submachine gun with rhythmic precision.
“We’ve got standard perimeter surveillance feeds pulled from local utility lines,” Dominic reported over the low hum of the engine. “Looks like a skeleton crew of about twelve syndicate guards stationed on-site. Underground reinforced vault level beneath the main processing floor. That’s where they keep the high-value detainees and paper assets.”
Vincent didn't look up from the phone. “Isabella and Charles?”
“Secured in the estate's lower holding cells,” Dominic replied smoothly. “And before you ask, no, they won’t be going anywhere until we get back. Whether they survive the night depends entirely on what we find in that vault.”
Vincent’s thumb brushed gently against the cracked glass of the screen where Sofia’s name had briefly flashed hours ago.
“Vince, if Bellamy is in the room, don’t say another word...”
For three years, he had believed she abandoned him. For three years, he had carried the bitter poison of rejection, letting his heart freeze over, allowing people like Isabella to occupy space in his home. The realization that she had been fighting in the dark, protecting his legacy and his life while he lived in ignorance, felt like a physical blade twisting inside his chest.
“Driver,” Vincent said softly, his voice cutting through the hum of the tires on the asphalt.
May you like
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Don't bother with a tactical breach,” Vincent instructed, his eyes fixing on the dark silhouette of the coastline appearing ahead through the windshield. “Just drive straight through the front gates.”
