Chapter 5 - The Fall of the Traitors
The impact rattled the glass walls of the penthouse.
Vincent drove Marcus backward into the heavy mahogany bar, his right hand clamped around the underboss’s neck like a hydraulic vice. Vincent’s locked leg braces bore the weight, his teeth gritted in sheer defiance of the agonizing nerve fire shooting up his spine.
The snub-nosed revolver clattered harmlessly across the marble tiles.
“You took my loyalty,” Vincent whispered into Marcus’s ear, his voice chilled with an absolute lack of mercy. “You took my hospitality. And you thought because I was broken on the floor, you could step over me and claim my crown.”
Marcus clawed desperately at Vincent’s fingers, his face turning an ugly shade of plum purple, his feet kicking uselessly in the air. “V-Vincent... please... mercy...”
“Mercy is for men who fight in the light,” Vincent said.
He shoved Marcus sideways. The underboss crashed over the bar, demolishing several shelves of premium crystal and scotch before landing in a bloody heap on the wet floor.
Vincent did not collapse. He turned slowly, his boots grinding into the broken glass, his cold gaze locking onto Camille.
The woman who had shared his bed for three years shrank back against the terrace railing, clutching her red dress as if it could shield her from the judgment of the man she had abandoned.
“Vincent... darling, listen to me,” she sobbed, tears cutting black mascara tracks down her cheeks. “He forced me! Marcus threatened my family’s gallery! He said he would kill you if I didn't play along! I did it to protect you!”
Vincent looked at her. For eight months, her disdain had been the salt in his deepest wounds. Her disgusted glances at his paralyzed legs had made him feel less than human.
Now, looking at her cowering against the glass, he felt nothing. No rage. No love. Only a profound, freezing clarity.
“You’re pathetic, Camille,” Vincent said softly. “You left my room because you thought power lived in a man’s legs. You never understood that power lives here.” He touched his temple with one finger. “And in loyalty.”
He gestured toward Nora, who was standing quietly near the doorway, holding his silver cane ready in case his braces gave out.
“Eddie,” Vincent called out without turning his head.
Eddie Cole snapped to attention. “Yes, Don Bellori?”
“Take Marcus to the docks. Put him on a cargo freighter bound for South America in the engine room. If he ever touches North American soil again, bury him in the concrete foundation of Pier 42.”
“Consider it done, boss.”
“And Camille?” Eddie asked, glaring at the weeping socialite.
Vincent finally looked back at the woman he had once intended to marry. “Strip her of every piece of jewelry she’s wearing. Take the keys to the townhome, the cars, and the family credit cards. Her father’s gallery will be liquidated by noon tomorrow to pay for Marcus’s embezzlement. Put her on the street in the rain. Let her see how much loyalty she can buy with empty tears.”
Two armed guards seized Camille by the elbows. She screamed, thrashing against their grip, hurling curses and pleas that faded down the corridor until the heavy penthouse doors clicked shut.
The remaining captains stood in rigid silence, heads bowed in complete submission.
“We meet at my mansion tomorrow at noon,” Vincent commanded, taking his cane from Nora’s hands and leaning on it slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. “The Chicago streets belong to the Bellori family. Anyone who forgets that will join Marcus in the hull of a ship.”
“Yes, Don Bellori!” the room answered in unison.
Vincent nodded once. He turned toward the elevator, Nora stepping beside him to match his stride.
The moment the elevator doors slid shut, sealing them inside the private cabin, the carbon brace on Vincent’s left knee clicked out of alignment. His balance gave way.
Nora caught him instantly.
She wrapped her arms around his chest, taking the brunt of his weight, driving her heels into the floor mats to steady them both. Vincent leaned heavily against her, breathing raggedly, his forehead resting against the crook of her neck.
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“I’ve got you,” Nora whispered, her voice soft and fierce against his ear. “I’ve got you, Vincent. You’re safe.”
Vincent closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet, grounding scent of her skin. The king had reclaimed his empire, but as he held onto the only woman who had never lied to him, he realized he had finally found something worth ruling for.
