Chapter 6 - The Vault of Secrets
At 9:00 a.m. sharp the following morning, three black armored sedans pulled up to the curb outside First National Bank in downtown Chicago.
Vincent walked through the grand marble lobby wearing an charcoal-gray suit, flanked by Marco and Lydia. The bank manager, a nervous man in his fifties who recognized Vincent instantly, bowed his head respectfully and guided them directly down into the subterranean vault without asking a single question.
The vault was a cold, brightly lit room lined with thousands of small, polished steel lockers.
The manager used his master key on Box 408, inserted the tiny brass key Vincent provided into the second lock, turned both mechanisms simultaneously, and stepped back with a polite bow. "I will leave you in privacy, Mr. Romano."
Vincent pulled the long metal safety deposit box from the wall and set it on the central metal table.
Lydia stood beside him as he lifted the heavy steel lid.
Inside lay a thick, blue velvet folder, two micro-cassette audio tapes, and a sealed manila envelope addressed directly to Vincent.
Vincent reached for the envelope first. His hands, usually so steady and cold, trembled slightly as he broke the wax seal and pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment written in Isabella’s elegant hand.
My beloved Vincent, the letter began.
If you are reading this, it means I am gone, and the brave young woman I entrusted with my necklace has fulfilled her promise. I am so sorry I couldn't tell you in person. I am so sorry I had to leave you alone in the dark for so long.
Silas betrayed us, Vincent. He sold our family to Sal Falcone. When I discovered the truth, I knew I couldn't just come to you with accusations—Silas had positioned himself so deeply in your security network that he would have intercepted the proof before it reached your hands. He caught me in my office at the lake house, shot me, and forced my car off the road.
I survived the crash long enough to hide the master ledger with Lydia, a waitress who showed me mercy when I was dying on a diner floor. In this box, you will find the recorded phone calls between Silas and Falcone detailing the hit on your life scheduled for next month, along with the deeds to Falcone's illegal shipping hubs in the South Side.
Do not let grief consume you, my love. Reclaim our family. Destroy the monsters who tried to tear us apart. And take care of Lydia—she is a good soul in a dark world.
Forever yours, Isabella.
Vincent closed his eyes, pressing the letter against his chest, a long, quiet breath escaping his lips. Two years of phantom grief, guilt, and unanswered questions dissolved into a cold, absolute resolve.
He opened his eyes, looking down at the audio tapes and the blue folder.
"Marco," Vincent said flatly.
"Yes, Don Vincent?"
"Call the family capos. Tell them to assemble at the Grand Hotel downtown at 2:00 p.m. Falcone will be attending the regional syndicate summit there."
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"And what about the evidence, sir?" Marco asked.
Vincent picked up the tapes and the folder, his face turning into an impenetrable wall of iron. "We aren't going to court, Marco. We are going to war."
