Chapter 7 - The Brother’s Reckoning
Sophia was dragged away into the darkness, her frantic screams and curses fading into the distant hum of the highway traffic.
Silence fell over the silos once again, leaving only the sound of the wind whipping through the rusted girders.
Vincent turned to face his older brother, his shoulders slumped as if the entire weight of his empire had collapsed upon his neck.
"You survived Sicily," Vincent said quietly.
"I survived because our father knew you were a jealous, impetuous boy," Dante answered, stopping ten feet away.
"He sent his loyalists to pull me out of that burning cellar before the roof caved in. He told me to wait until you destroyed yourself with your own arrogance."
Vincent let out a ragged, broken laugh, staring down at his empty hands.
"He was right. I destroyed everything."
He looked past Dante, his eyes finding mine once again, filled with an ocean of unspeakable grief and desperate longing.
"Claire... take the money. Take the private trusts, the hotels, the overseas accounts. Take everything I own. Just tell me... tell me there is a world where you don't hate me."
I walked forward with my cane, stopping just three feet from him, close enough to see the gray stubble on his cheeks and the shattered soul behind his eyes.
"Hate requires energy, Vincent," I said softly, the breeze lifting strands of dark hair across my face.
"I don't hate you. I feel nothing for you at all."
Vincent flinched as if struck by a physical bullet.
"You were a man who owned the entire city of Chicago, yet you couldn't give your pregnant wife ten minutes of your time," I continued, holding out a single folded piece of paper.
He took it with trembling fingers.
"The divorce is finalized, Vincent. Madison filed the signed decree with the circuit court this afternoon."
"Claire..." he choked out, falling to his knees on the gravel before me, burying his face against the hem of my coat.
"Please... don't leave me in this dark."
I pulled my coat gently from his grasp, stepping backward into the warm circle of Dante’s protection.
"You chose the dark three years ago, Vincent," I whispered. "Now you have to live in it."
May you like
Dante placed a heavy, protective hand on my shoulder, guiding me back toward the waiting SUV.
Vincent stayed on his knees in the dirt, sobbing into the empty wind as the red taillights of our convoy vanished into the Chicago night.
