Chapter 8
The Caradonna bodyguards moved with swift, silent efficiency. Two massive men in dark suits hauled Michael up by his armpits, dragging his limp, bleeding body across the floor. Two others pulled Patricia from beneath the photo wall, ignoring her hysterical screams and pleas for mercy as they forced her toward the heavy mahogany doors leading to the estate's subterranean levels.
Within moments, the bright sunroom was emptied of the traitors, leaving only the shattered remnants of the party, Vincent, Claire, Ethan, and the consigliere.
"Lock down the estate," Vincent ordered, turning to Robert. "Activate the perimeter security. No one enters or leaves without my direct authorization. I want a full sweep of the Reynolds' properties in the city. Confiscate their servers, their financial ledgers, everything."
"It is already in motion, Don Vincent," Robert replied, adjusting his glasses. "But there is a secondary complication we must address."
Vincent paused, his dark, wavy hair catching the bright sunlight as he turned to his advisor. "Speak."
"The private clinic that produced the forged DNA document," Robert explained, his voice measured. "I recognized the watermark on the paper before you crushed it. It belongs to the Sterling Medical Group in Chicago. The Reynolds family does not have the liquid capital to purchase a forgery of that caliber from the Sterlings. They are entirely bankrupt."
Vincent’s eyes narrowed, the cold, sharp intellect of a veteran Mafia boss engaging immediately. "You are suggesting Michael had a sponsor."
"I am stating it as a fact," Robert affirmed. "The Chicago syndicate wants a foothold in our east coast shipping lanes. If Michael successfully delegitimized Ethan and secured a massive divorce settlement, or worse, maneuvered himself into a position of guardianship over Claire’s assets, the Sterlings would have their entry point. Michael didn't just forge a document. He sold us out to Chicago."
Claire gasped softly, holding Ethan tighter. "He committed treason against the family."
"Yes," Vincent said softly. He walked over to his daughter, his intimidating presence softening as he looked at her and his grandson. He reached out and gently stroked Ethan’s dark hair. The three-year-old was finally calm, his head resting heavily on Claire’s shoulder.
"Take him upstairs to the secure wing, Claire," Vincent instructed gently. "Have Maria draw him a warm bath. Throw away that shirt. I will come up and read him a story once the house is secured."
Claire nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears of gratitude. "Thank you, Dad. For protecting him."
"He is my blood," Vincent whispered fiercely. "I would burn the world to ashes before I let a single flame touch him."
Claire turned and carried Ethan out of the ruined sunroom, flanked immediately by two heavily armed guards who would shadow her every step.
May you like
Vincent watched them go until they disappeared down the grand hallway. When he turned back to Robert, the loving grandfather was gone. The ruthless head of the Caradonna organization had returned.
"Prepare the interrogation room, Robert," Vincent said coldly. "We need to find out exactly what Michael promised Chicago."
