Chapter 8 - The Ledger of Blood
Marco Bellini stood over the groaning, bleeding form of Salvatore Moretti, resting the heavy muzzle of his rifle against the fallen uncle's temple.
"Don Lorenzo," Marco said, his voice deep with profound reverence as he bowed his head toward the man on the bed. "Forgive us. We were told you were brain dead. Salvatore produced medical authorizations signed by Vance stating you were vegetative. We were honoring your written wishes to let you pass peacefully."
Lorenzo sat on the edge of the mattress, his bare chest heaving as he ripped the remaining monitoring pads off his skin. Though pale, hollowed out by seven weeks of starvation and chemical suppression, the lethal predator that had ruled the underworld for a decade was terrifyingly alive. His dark eyes burned like glowing embers.
"Vance lied," Lorenzo rasped, his voice raw and gravelly from weeks of disuse, but carrying the unquestioned weight of an absolute monarch. "My uncle... poisoned me. Every day. Slipped neuro-blockers into my drip."
"He's telling the truth," I spoke up, standing on trembling legs while holding Mia firmly against my hip. I reached into the side of my boot, pulled out the two amber glass vials of Vecuronium Bromide and the handwritten dosage ledger, and handed them to Marco. "I found these hidden in the basement pantry. Salvatore bought them under an offshore account. He paid Vance to slowly paralyze Lorenzo while pretending it was a natural coma."
Marco quickly scanned the ledger, his jaw tightening with murderous fury. He looked down at Salvatore, who was crawling backward on the floor, clutching his bleeding face and whimpering like a cur.
"You tried to murder your brother's son," Marco hissed, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You broke the sacred blood oath of this family."
"Wait," Lorenzo ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a guillotine.
Lorenzo slowly stood up on his own two feet. His legs wobbled for a fraction of a second before finding their balance, his massive frame towering over everyone in the room. He walked slowly across the shattered glass, his bare feet indifferent to the sharp shards, until he stood directly above his uncle.
Salvatore looked up into the eyes of the monster he had tried to bury. "Lorenzo... please... blood of my blood... I did it for the family... you were becoming soft..."
Lorenzo leaned down, his face inches from Salvatore’s. "You locked a three-year-old child in a cellar and threatened to feed her to dogs," Lorenzo whispered, his tone so terrifyingly calm it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. "You are not my blood. You are a diseased branch that needs to be severed."
Lorenzo straightened up and turned to Marco. "Take him to the harbor docks. Put him on a freighter headed for the Black Sea. Strip him of every cent, every passport, and every connection. If he ever touches American soil again, skin him alive."
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"And Vance?" Marco asked, nodding toward the trembling physician.
"Revoke his medical license... and his kneecaps," Lorenzo commanded without blinking. "Then throw him in federal prison with a full confession attached to his chest."
