Chapter 5 - Unholy Alliances
By sunrise, the Rourke estate on the outskirts of the city was turned into a fortress.
Two dozen heavily armed guards patrolled the iron gates. Inside the master bedroom, Dr. Thorne finished applying professional sutures and an IV drip to Claire’s shoulder. She was resting beneath heavy silk sheets, her color slowly returning as the fluids took effect.
Vincent stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the foggy grounds. He wore a fresh black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the intricate dark tattoos tracing his forearms.
Gabriel walked into the room, holding a encrypted tablet.
“Thorne says she’ll recover fully in a few weeks,” Gabriel reported softly, glancing toward the bed. “She’s tough, boss. Tougher than any of us gave her credit for.”
“What did you find on Vane?” Vincent asked, not turning around.
“She was right,” Gabriel admitted, his voice tight with anger. “We swept Vane’s private logistics servers using the access codes Jax recovered from her stolen files. Vane has been using our North Harbor terminal to transport untraceable military hardware. He was planning a full takeover of your territory. The hit at the Lexington last night was meant to eliminate you and blame it on the Moretti family, giving Vane cause to declare martial law over the syndicate.”
Vincent turned around slowly. His expression was dangerously calm.
“Where is Vane right now?”
“He called a emergency summit of the Syndicate Council for two o'clock today at his estate in Greenwich,” Gabriel replied. “He thinks you’re in mourning or searching the river for your wife’s body. He’s going to propose taking temporary control of Rourke Enterprises to 'maintain stability.'”
Vincent walked over to the side of the bed. He looked down at Claire, whose eyes fluttered open at the sound of his footsteps.
She looked up at him, her gaze clear despite the pain medication.
“You’re going to the summit,” she said. It wasn't a question.
“I’m going to kill him, Claire,” Vincent answered bluntly.
Claire reached out with her uninjured arm, her cold fingers wrapping around his wrist.
“Not like that,” she said softly. “If you just march in there and shoot him, the rest of the council will treat you like a rogue threat. They’ll unite against you. You need to expose him in front of everyone.”
Vincent smirked, a dark, dangerous expression. “And how do you suggest I do that, Mrs. Rourke?”
Claire pulled a small, silver flash drive from under her pillow—the one she had retrieved from her hidden stash in the warehouse before Vincent found her.
“This contains the original, unedited financial ledgers from Vane’s shell companies,” she said, holding it out to him. “Along with the audio recording of Vane ordering my father’s murder four years ago. My father recorded it on his military wire before they administered the paralytic.”
Vincent took the drive, staring at it in awe.
He looked down at his quiet, delicate wife who had orchestrated a masterclass in counter-intelligence right beneath his nose for three years.
“You really are incredible,” Vincent murmured, leaning down to press his forehead against hers.
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“I’m a Bennett,” she whispered, a faint smile touching her lips. “We don't go down without a fight.”
“No,” Vincent corrected her, his gray eyes locking onto hers with burning intensity. “You’re a Rourke. And it’s time the city remembered what happens when someone touches what’s mine.”
