Chapter 12
Marcus tried one last time to seize control.
He pointed toward Noah.
“This entire night started because a servant’s child walked where he shouldn’t.”
Noah flinched.
Victoria looked at Marcus.
He continued.
“A three-year-old moves a painting with his eyes and suddenly everyone forgets hierarchy.”
Clara stepped forward.
“He noticed it crooked.”
Marcus laughed.
“Of course you’re proud.”
He looked at Noah.
“Maybe next time Mommy will teach you to stare at the floor like servants are supposed to.”
Victoria’s voice became quiet.
“No.”
Marcus turned.
She stood.
“Look at him.”
“What?”
“Look.”
He reluctantly did.
Noah stood beside Clara.
Still frightened.
Still holding one folded linen he had picked back up.
Victoria said:
“He noticed what every adult in this gallery ignored.”
Marcus scoffed.
“A crooked painting.”
“A changed room.”
Silence.
“A frightened Helena.”
Nothing.
“A hidden compartment.”
His jaw tightened.
“And the fact that your entire plan depended on people believing children and servants don’t matter.”
Clara looked at Noah.
Tears in her eyes.
Helena laughed.
“This is sentimental garbage.”
Victoria turned.
Helena continued.
“You’re going to lose an organization because you want everyone to feel important.”
“No.”
“What?”
Victoria stepped toward Daniel’s chair.
“I’m keeping it because people know they matter.”
Helena rolled her eyes.
“Love doesn’t run crews.”
“Neither does terror forever.”
Marcus suddenly rushed the ledger.
A bodyguard stopped him.
He struggled.
Helena did not help.
Instead she looked disgusted.
“Look at you.”
Marcus froze.
She continued.
“Rolling around with guards because you couldn’t move one widow.”
He stared at his mother.
She smiled.
“I should have chosen someone competent.”
Something inside Marcus broke.
“Chosen?”
Helena realized.
Too late.
He laughed.
“You said I was supposed to lead.”
The red-slash capos looked at each other.
Helena said nothing.
Marcus continued.
“After Victoria fell.”
Nothing.
“You said Bellacorte would be mine.”
Helena finally answered.
“You were a bridge.”
His face emptied.
“To what?”
“My control.”
There it was.
Marcus had never been heir.
Never partner.
Just a son positioned between his mother and the chair she wanted.
He looked at Victoria.
Then the ledger.
Then Helena.
And said:
“There’s another compartment.”
Helena went pale.
Victoria stared.
“Where?”
May you like
Marcus pointed toward the far wall.
“Daniel’s chair.”
