Chapter 3 - Whispers from a Ghost
The basement vault of the Moretti Tower had seen many men break, but none had arrived with the bloodline of the family. Vincent was strapped to a steel chair under the glare of industrial halogen lights, his designer jacket discarded, his cuffs still rattling against the metal frame.
When I stepped into the room, Marco closed the heavy steel door behind me with a resounding clang that echoed off the damp concrete.
""Dominic, this is insane!"" Vincent yelled, struggling against his restraints. ""You're torturing your own flesh and blood over the delusions of an orphan! Have you completely lost your mind? The council will strip your title for this! Our uncles won't stand by while you butcher family!""
I didn't answer right away. I pulled over an empty chair, reversed it, and sat directly across from him, resting my forearms on the metal backrest. In my hand, I spun the golden butterfly necklace, its pendant catching the harsh white light.
""Isabella loved butterflies,"" I said quietly, the stillness in my tone far more dangerous than screaming. ""She told me once that they represent rebirth. That no matter how ugly the cage, something beautiful always emerges. You bought this chain for her with my credit card in Florence, remember? You said it was the perfect gift.""
Vincent swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. ""I helped you buy jewelry, so what? That doesn't mean I kidnapped her! Dominic, I was shot in the shoulder that night! I almost died in that alley!""
""Dr. Rossi reviewed your medical records from four years ago twenty minutes ago,"" I said, leaning forward. ""The trajectory of the bullet that hit your shoulder was fired from less than two feet away. Powder burns were present on your shirt, though the private hospital you paid conveniently omitted that detail from the official report. You shot yourself, Vincent. A glancing flesh wound to make yourself look like a hero who failed.""
Vincent's face drained of color. ""That’s a lie! Rossi is making things up because he’s terrified of you!""
""Mia told me about the rain,"" I continued, voice dropping lower. ""She said the bad man only visits when it rains. You always take leaves of absence from family business during storm season. You claim your old football injury acts up and you go upstate to your hunting lodge in the Adirondacks.""
""It's a cabin! A vacation home!""
""Then why did Marco’s surveillance team just report that your 'cabin' is surrounded by eight ex-military mercenaries on an off-the-books payroll totaling three million dollars a year?"" I stood up, towering over him, shadows swallowing my frame. ""Who are you keeping up there, Vincent? Why is there an underground medical unit registered to your shell company in Delaware?""
Vincent began to tremble, the bravado evaporating from his eyes, replaced by the ugly, naked cowardice that had always defined him beneath his tailored suits. ""You don't understand, Dom. You had everything! Father gave you the syndicate, the respect, the empire! And then you took Isabella. She was supposed to look at me! I saw her first at the gala in Rome! But she only had eyes for the big, violent Dominic!""
I struck him once, open-handed, hard enough to rattle his teeth and split his lip. Blood spattered onto his white shirt.
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""She is my wife,"" I snarled, grabbing him by the throat until his face turned purple. ""And that little girl outside is my blood, my daughter, my heir. Where is Isabella?""
Vincent gasped for air, a sickening, pathetic grin spreading across his bloody lips. ""You're too late, brother. Even if you kill me, you'll never reach her in time. If I don't check in by midnight, the guards have orders to burn the whole place to ash. You won't find a wife. You'll find bones.""
