Everyone watched Victoria raise her hand against a helpless elderly woman, but only one waitress dared to stop her—and seconds later, Chicago’s most powerful billionaire walked straight toward them. / Chapter 45 / 191

Chapter 45 - Runway Ambush

The armored truck skidded sideways across the wet asphalt, coming to an abrupt halt sixty yards from the Gulfstream's boarding stairs.

The private contractors at Hangar 7 didn't hesitate. Recognizing that their window of opportunity was closing, two guards raised automatic carbines and opened fire. Heavy rounds shattered against the reinforced ballistic glass of Vincent's truck, splintering into spiderweb patterns but failing to penetrate the thick composite armor.

Emma screamed instinctively, ducking beneath the dashboard as the deafening sound of bullets hammering the steel hull filled the cab.

"Stay down!" Vincent roared.

He reached beneath his seat, pulled a specialized smoke canister, and kicked open the driver's door. Using the heavy steel door as a mobile shield, Vincent hurled the canister directly beneath the wing of the jet. A thick, impenetrable wall of dense white smoke erupted across the tarmac, blinding the shooters and swallowing the landing gear in an instant.

Before the smoke could dissipate, Vincent moved with lethal precision. He stepped out into the pouring rain, his customized sidearm barking twice through the haze.

Two distinct thuds echoed over the whine of the jet engines as the nearest mercenaries collapsed onto the pavement. Vincent didn't pause; he sprinted forward through the mist, closing the distance before the remaining guards could re-acquire their target.

A third guard stepped out from behind the boarding stairs, his rifle raised. Vincent grabbed the barrel of the weapon, wrenching it violently downward while driving a brutal palm strike straight into the man's sternum. The contractor gasped, dropping like a stone as Vincent swept his leg and struck him with the butt of the sidearm.

From inside the jet cabin, the lead operative heard the gunfire and the chaos outside. Cursing violently, he unholstered his weapon and moved toward the elderly woman sitting in the passenger seat.

"Get up, old woman," he hissed, grabbing her frail arm. "You're coming with me."

"Take your hands off her," a voice rang out from the doorway of the aircraft.

The contractor spun around, bringing his gun up, but Vincent was already inside. A single shot echoed through the cabin. The operative’s weapon spun from his shattered fingers, and a follow-up blow from Vincent's elbow sent the man crashing into the bulkhead, knocking him out cold.

The elderly woman gasped, clutching her rosary to her chest. She looked up with wide, tearful eyes.

"Mrs. Hayes," Vincent said softly, his harsh expression instantly softening into genuine deference. He lowered his weapon and stepped forward, extending a hand to support her. "You are safe now. Emma is right outside."

"Vincent...?" Mrs. Hayes whispered, recognizing the sharp, noble bone structure of the man standing before her. "You look so much like your father."

Outside, hearing the silence replace the gunfire, Emma could no longer stay behind. She flung open the door of the truck and sprinted across the rain-drenched tarmac, bounding up the stairs of the jet.

"Grandma!" Emma sobbed, throwing her arms around the elderly woman's shoulders.

"Emma, my sweet child," Mrs. Hayes wept, hugging her granddaughter tightly. "I knew you would come. I knew you would."

Vincent stood at the entrance of the cabin, scanning the horizon. But just as the relief began to settle in Emma's chest, the phone in the unconscious lead contractor’s pocket buzzed loudly.

Vincent retrieved the phone and answered it, pressing the speakerphone.