Chapter 4
The cinematic, vibrant light of the afternoon illuminated the sheer size and weight of the gilded frame surrounding the portrait. It was nearly six feet tall, anchored to the mahogany paneling with heavy steel brackets. Vincent stood before it, his tailored suit jacket pulling tight across his broad, muscular shoulders.
"Vincent, I demand that you stop this immediately!" Helena shrieked, her voice losing all its refined elegance. She rushed forward, grabbing her brother’s arm with surprising strength. "That painting is a masterpiece! You will ruin it! You are desecrating her memory!"
Vincent did not speak. He did not look at her. He simply flexed his arm, tearing his bicep from her frantic grip with a violent, effortless motion that sent Helena stumbling backward in her expensive heels.
He reached up, his tattooed hands gripping the thick, ornate wood of the heavy portrait frame. His jawline sharpened as he braced his polished leather shoes against the marble floor. With a primal, visceral surge of masculine strength, Vincent pulled the massive frame forward.
The sound of tearing wood and groaning metal echoed through the room. The heavy steel brackets ripped free from the mahogany paneling. Vincent hoisted the enormous painting and shoved it carelessly to the side. It crashed against the floor, the beautiful image of his late wife staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
Vincent stared at the wall where the portrait had hung.
Behind it was not a solid wall of historic brick.
Set flush into the mahogany paneling was a narrow, industrial metal ventilation panel, meticulously painted with a faux-wood grain to perfectly match the surrounding room. It was an optical illusion, designed to be completely invisible unless the heavy portrait was removed.
Vincent stepped closer, his cold eyes scanning the edges of the metal grate. The screws holding the panel in place had been painted over to blend in, but the bottom left screw told a different story. The paint on that specific screw was freshly scratched, the bright silver metal gleaming beneath the dark brown coating. It had been unscrewed and refastened recently.
"Someone has been opening this," Vincent said. His voice was dead calm, a terrifyingly measured statement of fact. "Regularly."
Helena let out a sharp, breathless gasp. She began backing away toward the heavy oak doors, her fair, rosy skin entirely drained of color. "I... I feel faint. I need to leave this room."
"Guards," Vincent commanded, not taking his eyes off the scratched screw.
The heavy double doors swung open instantly. Three massive white American bodyguards in professional dark suits stepped into the memorial room. They took one look at the shattered glass, the discarded portrait, and the terrified faces of Helena and Marco.
"Yes, Boss," the lead bodyguard said, his hand resting casually near the bulge of his suit jacket.
"Lock the doors," Vincent ordered, his voice remaining low and steady. "No one leaves. If my sister or Marco attempts to cross the threshold. Break their legs."
"Understood," the guard replied. The heavy oak doors slammed shut, the deadbolts sliding into place with a loud, final click.
"Vincent, you cannot hold us hostage in our own home!" Helena screamed, pressing her back against the locked doors, her pearl earrings shaking violently. "This is madness! You are having a psychotic break!"
"I am having an awakening," Vincent corrected smoothly.
He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket and withdrew a sleek, heavy folding knife. The blade snapped open with a sharp, metallic snick. He stepped up to the false ventilation panel, wedging the sharp steel edge directly into the groove of the scratched screw, preparing to pry the metal grate from its housing.
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Marco dropped to his knees amid the shattered glass, completely surrendering to his terror. "Boss, please! Don't open it! You don't understand what you're doing!"
Vincent ignored the pleading man. He drove the blade deeper into the panel, his tattooed hands applying brutal, unyielding leverage.
