Chapter 173 - The Governor’s Betrayal
The first commando collapsed backward, the flare burning into his tactical armor, while the second took two rounds to the throat and dropped like a felled ox.
Governor Caldwell did not flinch. While his soldiers recoiled from the searing light, the Governor raised a custom sidearm, taking cold, deliberate aim at Vincent’s exposed silhouette.
"You're a brilliant tactician, Vincent," Caldwell shouted over the alarms howling through the dying vessel, his tailored suit pristine beneath the flickering lights. "Just like your father. But you both suffered from the same fatal flaw—you believed you could control the state with money alone. You forgot that power isn't held in boardrooms; it is held in the shadows of the law!"
Caldwell fired. The bullet grazed Vincent’s left shoulder, ripping through Kevlar and flesh, spinning him against the navigation helm.
"Vincent!" Emma screamed from the conduit entrance beneath the console.
Ignoring his own blood, Vincent dropped low and fired twice at the doorframe, forcing Caldwell to step back into the corridor. Vincent slammed his palm against the emergency bulk-seal switch on the console. A heavy, hydraulic steel blast door began descending, groaning under immense pressure as it severed the bridge from the access corridor.
"Go, Emma! Go now!" Vincent shouted, lunging into the conduit opening just as Caldwell’s remaining men sprayed the descending door with high-caliber rounds. The steel plate slammed shut with an earth-shattering boom, sealing them into the lower service crawlways.
Inside the narrow conduit, the air was thick with the stench of hydraulic oil and salt water. The sub groaned violently around them; the emergency surfacing had overstressed the outer hull, and the explosive breach on the bridge had ruptured secondary ballast valves. Water was already trickling through the joints above them.
Emma crawled backward, guiding Vincent into the narrow maintenance nexus. In the dim, red emergency lighting, she saw the crimson stain spreading across his shoulder. Her hands shook, but without hesitation, she ripped a section of fabric from her utility jacket and pressed it firmly against the wound.
Vincent hissed in pain, his jaw tightening, but he didn't pull away. In the tight confines, their faces were barely inches apart.
"Why didn't you let me fall?" Emma asked, her voice trembling with an agonizing cocktail of betrayal, grief, and raw emotion. "If what Helena said is true... if the Morettis destroyed my family to build their empire... why protect me?"
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Vincent looked at her, his dark eyes shadowed with genuine torment. "Because before I ever knew who you were—before any of this bloodline nonsense began—you were the only person in Chicago who stepped forward when no one else had the courage. My father’s sins are not mine, Emma. But if his blood is on my hands, I will bleed every drop to set it right."
A sudden, violent tremor shook the crawlspace. Down below, deep within the belly of the *Tartarus*, the sound of catastrophic hull buckling reverberated through the steel.
