Chapter 13
When the emergency lamps returned, Matteo was gone.
So was the wooden box.
The photograph remained in Dominic’s hand.
Samuel Moretti.
Vincent’s father’s closest friend.
A man who had helped carry Richard’s coffin.
A man Vincent remembered calling Uncle Samuel.
Officially dead after a boating accident ten years earlier.
No body recovered.
Vincent almost laughed at the pattern.
False death was not an exception in the Moretti family.
It was a method.
They returned to the estate before dawn.
Leo was safe.
Emma met Vincent at the door.
He did not realize how tightly he had been holding himself until his son ran into his arms.
“Daddy.”
Vincent lifted him.
Leo buried his face against his neck.
For several seconds, Vincent allowed nothing else to exist.
Then Leo looked at Dominic.
Dominic had entered behind them.
The boy immediately stiffened.
Dominic stopped.
He did not approach.
Good.
Vincent looked at his cousin.
“Stay there.”
Dominic nodded.
Leo whispered:
“Bad Uncle.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Vincent did not correct the child.
Actions had consequences.
Dominic would not receive a clean redemption because he helped at the theater.
He had frightened a toddler repeatedly.
That remained.
Emma took Leo gently.
Vincent spoke to Dominic in the main hall.
“Your pin.”
Dominic touched the Moretti pin on his jacket.
Slowly removed it.
Placed it in Vincent’s hand.
Every capo still inside the estate watched.
Dominic understood.
This was not private punishment.
It was removal.
“You do not command Moretti men.”
Dominic nodded.
“You do not enter this estate without invitation.”
“Yes.”
“You do not approach Leo.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
Vincent continued.
“You want revenge on Matteo?”
“Yes.”
“That is no longer your path into this family.”
Dominic looked down.
“What am I?”
Vincent stared.
“Alive.”
That was all.
Dominic left.
No guards.
No title.
No chair.
For a man like Dominic, humiliation might last longer than pain.
Vincent then faced Peter.
Peter expected the same.
Vincent did not give it.
“You opened my house.”
“Yes.”
“You let Matteo near Leo.”
“Yes.”
“My son paid for your fear.”
Peter lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
Vincent continued.
“Andrew is alive.”
Peter looked toward his son waiting nearby.
“Yes.”
“Take him.”
Peter looked surprised.
“Leave.”
“Sir—”
“You are not my security chief.”
Peter’s face broke.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Vincent’s voice remained cold.
“Your reason mattered.”
Peter looked up.
“Your choice still cost you.”
Peter nodded.
Then left with his son.
No dramatic forgiveness.
No execution.
A consequence.
Vincent turned toward Gabriel.
Sofia’s brother remained near the fireplace.
Alive after two years of false death.
Responsible for the accident that killed her.
Or at least the last person whose hand slipped from hers.
Vincent looked at him.
“This one is harder.”
Gabriel nodded.
“I know.”
“Part of me wants you dead.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“You worked with Matteo.”
“Yes.”
“You grabbed Sofia.”
“Yes.”
“You lost her.”
Gabriel’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Vincent looked toward Emma holding Leo.
“If I kill you, Leo grows up hearing I avenged his mother.”
Gabriel said nothing.
Vincent continued.
“And maybe one day he learns I killed his uncle because grief needed somewhere to land.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
Vincent hated him for making the choice difficult.
That difficulty was probably what Sofia would have wanted.
“You leave.”
Gabriel looked up.
“Vincent—”
“No.”
His voice became lethal.
“You do not get family tonight.”
Gabriel absorbed it.
“Will I ever?”
“I don’t know.”
Truth.
Gabriel nodded.
He walked out.
Emma remained.
Vincent looked at her.
“You knew too much.”
She almost smiled sadly.
“Yes.”
“You hid too much.”
“Yes.”
“You protected Leo.”
“With everything I had.”
Vincent believed her.
That mattered more than title.
“Stay.”
Emma stared.
“Not because you’re staff.”
He looked toward Leo.
“Because he trusts you.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
She nodded.
Then Vincent remembered the photograph.
Samuel.
He went upstairs to Sofia’s old room.
The mirror in the photograph still hung there.
He stood in the same position.
Looked at the reflection.
Something caught his eye.
A narrow seam behind the frame.
He removed the mirror.
Inside the wall was a small carved mark.
Three circles.
One line through them.
Not Matteo’s symbol.
Not family crest.
Emma stood behind him.
“What is that?”
Vincent stared.
“I’ve seen it once.”
“Where?”
“My father’s desk.”
Before Richard died.
A private emblem used among his oldest inner circle.
Samuel.
Two other men.
Vincent had never known what it meant.
He touched the mark.
A panel opened.
Inside was another music box.
Not Sofia’s.
Older.
Richard’s voice came from it.
Vincent’s father.
Dead nine years.
“If Vincent hears this, Samuel has failed.”
Vincent froze.
The recording continued.
“Matteo was never the greatest threat to my son.”
Emma looked at him.
Richard’s voice lowered.
“He is only the man loud enough to be blamed.”
A pause.
“Samuel knows who built the discipline system before either of us.”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“His name is Lawrence Moretti.”
Vincent stopped.
There had never been a Lawrence Moretti in the family history.
Not officially.
May you like
Then Richard said:
“My older brother.”
