Chapter 10
Vincent walked onto the lawn without guards.
He didn’t need them.
He believed history protected him.
The ruined ENGAGED letters still covered one side of the grass.
Grant’s barrel display remained broken.
Water glistened on the stone where Serena had soaked Eleanor hours earlier.
Vincent surveyed everything.
Then smiled.
“Messy.”
Eleanor stood at the center of the lawn.
“Your work usually is.”
He looked at Adrian.
“My boy.”
Adrian did not answer.
Vincent noticed.
Then Serena.
“You lost control.”
Her face tightened.
“You lied to me.”
Vincent almost looked amused.
“About?”
“How long Adrian would lead.”
Silence.
He glanced at Grant.
Grant looked away.
Vincent sighed.
“Children.”
Serena’s expression changed.
“I’m thirty-seven.”
“Thirty-eight,” Grant muttered.
Serena snapped toward him.
Vincent laughed.
“You see?”
Then to Eleanor:
“This is why stability requires age.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
“You spent all afternoon telling Adrian mine was a problem.”
Vincent smiled.
“Age is useful when attached to a man who knows what to do with it.”
There.
Not hidden anymore.
Adrian’s face hardened.
Eleanor remained calm.
“Did you order the Moretti hit?”
“Yes.”
Grant stared.
Vincent looked at him.
“What?”
“You said pressure.”
“It is pressure.”
“You said nobody would get hurt.”
Vincent’s expression became bored.
“Two warehouse guards?”
He shrugged.
“People heal.”
Grant went silent.
Eleanor watched the disgust move through several capos.
Vincent didn't care.
He continued.
“By morning, Moretti retaliates.”
“Unless I stop it.”
Vincent smiled.
“You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because denying the attack makes you look weak.”
He stepped closer.
“Admitting it makes you reckless.”
Another.
“Blaming me makes you look paranoid.”
He smiled.
“Beautiful, really.”
Eleanor studied him.
“You needed Serena to humiliate me.”
“Yes.”
“She needed Adrian to stay silent.”
“Yes.”
“Grant needed to attack me.”
Vincent shrugged.
“He enjoys that sort of thing.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Vincent continued.
“The glasses mattered most.”
He looked around.
“Twenty-three people raised them.”
Eleanor corrected:
“Twenty-three people were handed marked glasses.”
Vincent’s smile thinned.
“Still raised.”
“Some didn't know the meaning.”
“Intent is sentimental.”
There it was.
His philosophy.
Gesture over truth.
Appearance over loyalty.
Eleanor glanced around.
Several guests looked ashamed.
Vincent saw.
He raised his voice.
“Do not let her guilt you now.”
Then to the crowd:
“She asked.”
“You answered.”
“Your glasses went up.”
Silence.
“And every old Bellini in Queens will hear about it.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“From you.”
“Yes.”
“So that is your evidence.”
Vincent frowned.
“What?”
“A garden toast.”
“Thirty witnesses.”
“Twenty-three.”
“Enough.”
Eleanor almost smiled.
Vincent disliked that.
“What’s funny?”
“You built everything around appearances.”
His eyes narrowed.
She continued.
“My wet clothes.”
“Raised glasses.”
“Fake uniforms.”
“Bellini guns at a Moretti warehouse.”
“All pictures.”
“All symbols.”
“All things men repeat because they look simple.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“And?”
“You forgot to check what people actually think after the performance ends.”
Vincent looked around.
The laughter had vanished hours ago.
Nobody stood near Serena.
Nobody stood near Grant.
Adrian stood beside Eleanor.
Not behind.
Vincent’s expression changed slightly.
Then he looked at Henry.
“You know the custom.”
Henry nodded.
“So tell her.”
Henry said nothing.
“Tell her the vote stands.”
Henry finally spoke.
“There was no challenge called.”
Vincent went still.
Serena stared.
Henry continued.
“The Bellini custom requires the challenger to name himself before the glasses rise.”
Vincent’s face tightened.
“You’re splitting hairs.”
“No.”
Henry looked around.
“Without a named challenger, the ribbons mean nothing.”
Silence.
Eleanor understood.
Vincent had recreated half a ritual.
Enough to deceive younger people.
Not enough to satisfy the old ones who remembered.
Vincent’s face darkened.
“You think tradition saves her?”
Henry answered:
“No.”
Then looked at Eleanor.
“She doesn’t need it.”
That was worse.
Vincent’s plan was losing its oldest pillar.
So he moved to the next one.
He smiled at Adrian.
“Fine.”
“Name yourself now.”
The lawn went quiet.
Vincent pointed toward the old chair brought from the carriage house.
“Challenge her.”
Serena turned to Adrian.
“Do it.”
Grant nodded.
Even Vincent waited.
Eleanor said nothing.
No pressure.
No command.
For the first time all night, Adrian stood without anyone telling him what kind of man he needed to be.
He looked at the chair.
Then his mother.
May you like
Then Serena.
And did not move.
