Chapter 4 - THE CHECKMATE ON THE WATER
“Marcus,” Vargas said smoothly, lowering his rifle just an inch while his right hand subtly drifted toward a hidden remote on his belt. “You always were a remarkably cheap dog. Tell me, how many millions did Vance promise you to betray the city?”
Chief Thorne laughed, a harsh, arrogant sound that echoed off the damp concrete walls of the boathouse. “More than you’ll ever spend in hell, Vargas. And as for the boy—well, accidents happen on the water every day. A tragic drowning. Just like his grandmother.”
My blood boiled. The memory of my grandmother’s gentle voice—“never let poverty empty your soul”—flashed through my mind, replaced by a searing, white-hot fury.
“You killed her,” I whispered, stepping out from behind Vargas’s protective bulk.
Thorne glanced down at me, smirking. “And I’m going to finish the bloodline right here, kid.”
He shifted his aim from Vargas to my chest.
In that fraction of a second, Vargas didn't hesitate. He slammed his thumb down on the remote console hidden on his belt.
WHOOSH!
A blinding flash of magnesium flares erupted from the overhead gantry behind Chief Thorne, instantly blinding him with searing white light. At the same time, Ignacio’s suppressed pistol cracked once.
Thwip.
Thorne screamed, dropping his rifle as a bullet tore through his shoulder, sending him tumbling off the high gantry into the dark, churning waters of the bay below.
“Get in the boat! Now!” Vargas roared, shoving me toward the speedboat as more armed guards poured down the concrete staircase from the cliffside estate.
Ignacio slammed the throttle forward, and the twin supercharged engines roared to life with a deafening shriek. The boat surged away from the dock, cutting through the dark bay water like a knife while bullets sparked off the fiberglass hull behind us.
I sat in the bow, clutching the submachine gun, water spray stinging my face as we rocketed out into the safety of the open ocean fog.
Vargas sat beside me, wiping a smudge of soot from his cheek. He looked over at me, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of shock and profound respect.
“You didn’t flinch back there,” Vargas said quietly over the roar of the engines. “Most grown men would have frozen.”
“I’ve been fighting to stay alive for three months,” I replied, my voice steady, cold, and entirely devoid of childhood innocence. “I’m done running.”
May you like
Vargas nodded slowly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book with brass corners—worn, ancient, and bearing a symbol on the cover that matched the ring my grandmother had worn every day of her life.
“The Mendoza Ledger,” Vargas said, holding it out to me. “Your inheritance, Aurelio. It contains every name, every account, and every dirty secret Mayor Vance and his cronies possess. With this book, and with my army... we aren’t just going to survive. We’re going to take Ciudad de Esperanza back.”
