Chapter 7
The natural light streaming into the memorial room cast sharp, dramatic shadows across Vincent’s face. He stood in the center of the pristine marble floor, unbuttoning his tailored suit jacket with meticulous, chilling precision. He tossed the expensive garment onto a nearby chair, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath, pulled taut across his broad, muscular chest. The artistic tattoos on his hands flexed as he rolled up his sleeves, a clear, terrifying indication that the talking was over.
"Vincent, stop this," Helena pleaded, backing away until she hit the wall again, her pearl earrings shaking violently. "You cannot harm me. I am your sister! I am a Caruso! The other families will not tolerate a Boss who murders his own blood!"
"There is no blood between us," Vincent said. His American accent was devoid of any emotion, a flat, robotic delivery of absolute death. "You are a parasite. Who fed on my grief."
"We fed her!" Helena yelled, pointing a trembling finger toward the dark, open ventilation shaft. "We kept her alive! We brought her food and water every night when you were asleep! We could have killed her, Vincent, but we showed mercy! We let her live!"
Vincent stopped walking. A cold, dark chuckle escaped his lips, a sound so devoid of humor it made the hair on Marco’s arms stand up.
"Mercy," Vincent repeated, shaking his head slowly. "You locked a mother in a wall. Ten feet away from where her child played. You let her hear her daughter crying for her, and you call that mercy."
Marco pushed himself up against the marble altar, coughing blood onto his expensive tie. "Boss, listen to me," Marco wheezed, desperate to bargain his way out of the room. "If you kill us, you open a war you can't win. We didn't do this alone."
Vincent turned his sharp, intimidating eyes toward the bleeding adviser. "Speak."
"It wasn't just me and your sister," Marco confessed, his eyes wide and frantic. "The Commission knew she was a liability. The bosses in New York gave the order, Vincent! They told us to handle it, or they would handle you! We faked the car crash to appease them! If you retaliate against us, the Commission will know you've found her. They will send hit squads to this house tonight to finish the job!"
Helena nodded frantically. "He is telling the truth, Vincent! The entire East Coast syndicate knows! If she walks out of that wall alive, they will execute all of us! You have to leave her in there! For the sake of the family, for Clara’s sake, you have to let her go!"
Vincent stared at them both. He processed the magnitude of the betrayal. It wasn't just his sister and his most trusted adviser; his entire criminal world had conspired to rip his wife away from him. They had watched him suffer for four years, holding the secret over his head like a sword.
"Thank you, Marco," Vincent said softly, his voice dropping to a terrifying, measured whisper. "For giving me the names. Of the men I am going to slaughter."
Before Marco could react, Vincent crossed the room with blinding speed. He delivered a brutal, devastating kick directly to Marco’s chest. The impact shattered the adviser's ribs, sending him crashing backward over the marble altar. Marco hit the floor in a broken heap, entirely unconscious.
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Helena screamed, pressing her hands over her mouth in sheer, unadulterated terror.
Vincent did not look at her. He turned his back on the ruined bodies of the traitors and walked slowly toward the dark, gaping hole in the wall. The time for vengeance had been secured. Now, it was time to bring his queen back into the light.
