Chapter 9
Vincent stepped out of the hidden passage, carrying Evelyn into the blinding, cinematic light of the memorial room. The bright colors of the room seemed to shock her; she buried her face against Vincent’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut against the brilliant afternoon sun pouring through the massive windows.
Vincent held her securely, his cold, sharp eyes scanning the room. Marco was still unconscious, a broken heap behind the marble altar. Helena stood frozen near the locked oak doors, her elegant formal dress ruined with sweat and fear, her fair skin pale as a ghost. When she saw Vincent emerge with Evelyn in his arms, the last shred of her aristocratic defiance vanished.
"Vincent, please," Helena whimpered, her American accent trembling. "We are family."
Vincent did not speak to her. He walked to the center of the room and gently set Evelyn down on a plush, velvet chaise lounge near the windows. He stripped off his tailored suit jacket and draped the heavy, warm fabric over her frail, shivering shoulders.
"Keep your eyes closed until they adjust to the light," Vincent murmured softly, his tattooed hand gently brushing the tangled hair from her pale face.
Evelyn nodded weakly, pulling the expensive jacket tightly around herself.
Vincent turned his attention back to his sister. The tenderness vanished instantly, replaced by the terrifying, measured aura of the Mafia Boss. He walked slowly toward the heavy oak doors, his polished shoes echoing on the marble. He stopped a few feet from Helena, pulling his encrypted smartphone from his pocket.
He tapped a single button. The heavy deadbolts on the oak doors clicked loudly, unlocking.
"Guards," Vincent called out, his voice low and commanding.
The heavy doors swung open, and three massive bodyguards stepped into the room. They took one look at the unconscious Marco, the terrified Helena, and the fragile woman sitting on the chaise lounge. Being fiercely loyal to Vincent, their expressions remained completely stoic, betraying no shock.
"Take Marco. And my sister. To the soundproof holding cells in the sub-basement," Vincent ordered, his words slow, cold, and absolute. "Zip-tie them to the chairs. Do not give them food. Do not give them water. I will deal with them tonight."
"Vincent, no!" Helena shrieked, dropping to her knees as the bodyguards grabbed her arms. "You can't lock me in the dark! I am claustrophobic! Please, have mercy!"
"You drained my mercy. Four years ago," Vincent whispered, looking down at her with dead, unblinking eyes. "Take them."
The guards dragged the screaming, thrashing older woman out of the room, hauling Marco’s unconscious body out by his ankles. The doors shut behind them, sealing the memorial room in absolute quiet once more.
Vincent walked back to Evelyn. She had slowly opened her eyes, squinting against the light, taking in the opulent surroundings she hadn't seen in years. Her gaze drifted upward, landing on the massive, empty space on the wall where her own portrait had hung just an hour ago.
"Where is Clara?" Evelyn asked, her voice raspy, desperate with maternal need.
"She is safe in the playroom," Vincent promised, kneeling beside the chaise lounge. "I will bring her to you as soon as the doctor checks you over. But I need to know, Evelyn. Marco said you found ledgers. He said you were going to the FBI."
Evelyn looked at him, her hollow eyes filling with a complex mixture of sorrow and steel. "I did find ledgers, Vincent. But I wasn't going to the FBI to turn you in."
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Vincent frowned, his thick brows drawing together. "Then why did you take them?"
"Because the ledgers proved that your father didn't die of a heart attack," Evelyn revealed, her voice steadying with sudden, shocking strength. "He was poisoned. By the New York Commission. I was trying to get the evidence to your loyal capos to warn you before they came for you next."
