Chapter 6
The bright, natural sunlight illuminated the sheer, naked terror that suddenly washed over Marcella’s face. The moment her eyes landed on the black USB drive and the folded note resting on the marble floor, her arrogant, furious demeanor entirely evaporated. The pain in her bruised cheek was instantly forgotten.
Marcella’s arrogance vanishes completely. The thirty-nine-year-old bride looked like a woman who had just stared directly into the eyes of the devil. Her fair, rosy skin turned completely ashen.
She knew exactly what was on that drive.
Driven by a blinding, hysterical panic, Marcella scrambled forward. She lunged on her hands and knees across the slick marble floor, ignoring the shards of crystal digging into her palms and her wedding gown. She threw her body weight toward the objects, desperate to snatch them and swallow them if she had to, anything to prevent her brother from seeing the truth.
She never even came close.
"Hold her," Nico commanded softly.
Rafe Calder, the forty-five-year-old head of security, moved with the explosive speed of a highly trained operative. The man in the dark professional suit intercepted Marcella’s desperate lunge. Rafe stepped forward and immediately blocked her, planting his heavy leather shoe firmly on the floor between her outstretched hands and the USB drive.
Marcella crashed against Rafe’s leg. The security chief reached down, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders of her expensive gown, and hauled her back, pinning her securely to the floor so she couldn't move another inch.
"Let me go!" Marcella shrieked, thrashing violently against the massive security chief. "Nico, don't look at it! It's a lie! She was crazy! She was paranoid!"
Nico didn't say a word. He remained perfectly still, towering over the scene.
"Please, Nico!" Marcella begged, her American accent cracking into a pathetic, breathless whine. She stopped struggling against Rafe, realizing she couldn't overpower him. She looked up at her brother, tears of absolute, profound dread streaming down her face.
She lowered her voice, hoping the surrounding guests couldn't hear the depth of her guilt.
“Nico… burn it,” Marcella pleaded in a panicked whisper. “Burn it right now. For the sake of this family. If you look at that drive, it will destroy everything we have built. It will tear the syndicate apart. Please, brother. Burn it.”
The sheer, psychopathic audacity of her request hung heavily in the cinematic light of the ballroom. She wasn't denying the existence of the conspiracy; she was begging him to choose the syndicate's stability over the truth of his wife's murder.
Rafe looked up at Nico, his hand resting on his concealed firearm. "Your orders, Boss?"
"Secure the perimeter, Rafe," Nico replied, his voice a low, vibrating hum of pure menace. "Lock the doors. Confiscate all cell phones. Nobody leaves this room until I say so."
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"Understood," Rafe nodded, signaling the dozens of armed men stationed around the hall. The heavy oak doors of the ballroom slammed shut, the heavy deadbolts clicking into place with a terrifying finality. The wedding guests were now officially hostages to the truth.
Nico took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes never leaving his sister's terrified face as he reached down toward the marble floor.
