Chapter 6 - BLOOD TIES
The storm raged harder by the time Vincent returned to the Long Island estate at four in the morning.
Thunder shook the heavy glass windows of the mansion. Inside, the grand halls were quiet, illuminated only by emergency wall sconces.
Vincent stripped off his soaked overcoat, handing it to a guard at the door. He didn't head to his master suite. He didn't go to the bar for a celebratory scotch. Instead, he took the narrow stone stairs down into the mansion’s sub-basement.
The wine cellar was cold, lined with hundreds of vintage bottles collected by three generations of Morettis. In the center of the room, sitting on a wooden folding chair under a single hanging lightbulb, was Dante.
His designer suit was ruined. His hair was disheveled. His wrists were zip-tied behind his back.
When the heavy iron door creaked open, Dante looked up, his face twisted in a mixture of dread and defiance.
“Did you kill him?” Dante rasped.
Vincent walked over and dragged a wooden wine crate across the floor, sitting down opposite his brother. “Sal Valenti is alive. He’s paying back every penny you stole from Sofia’s foundation.”
Dante let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Sofia’s foundation! Always Sofia! Even from the grave, that girl owns you! You loved a dying kid more than you ever loved your own flesh and blood!”
Vincent leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I gave you half of our empire, Dante. I gave you the shipping lines, the commercial real estate, the seat at the Commission table. All I asked was that you act with honor.”
“Honor doesn't buy respect!” Dante screamed, his voice bouncing off the damp brick walls. “I was sick of living in your shadow! I was sick of everyone whispering that Dante Moretti was just the errand boy for the broken king! I built those connections with Valenti! I was going to take the seat that should have been mine ten years ago!”
Vincent looked at his brother with deep, profound sorrow. There was no rage left in Vincent’s eyes—only the crushing exhaustion of a man who realized that blood did not guarantee brotherhood.
“Do you know what Clara told me tonight?” Vincent asked softly.
Dante scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Who cares what a maid says?”
“She told me that when Ellie had a fever of a hundred and four last November, you took the antibiotics from the medicine cabinet and threw them into the trash incinerator because Clara had forgotten to press your shirts.”
Dante blinked, a sudden flicker of guilt breaking through his sneer. “She... she was being insubordinate.”
“She is a mother trying to keep her child alive,” Vincent whispered. “And you acted like a demon.”
Vincent stood up. He pulled a heavy silver key from his pocket and tossed it onto the floor between Dante’s boots.
“What’s that?” Dante asked, suspicious.
“The key to the side gate by the orchard,” Vincent said. “The zip-ties are loose enough for you to work your hands free in ten minutes. There is an unmarked sedan parked on the shoulder of Route 25A. The glove compartment contains fifty thousand dollars in cash and a one-way passport under an alias.”
Dante looked at the key, then up at Vincent, utterly bewildered. “You’re... you’re letting me go? After everything?”
“I promised our mother on her deathbed that I would never put a bullet in your head,” Vincent said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I am keeping my promise to her. But hear me clearly, Dante: from this moment forward, you do not exist. You have no brother. You have no family name. If you ever return to this state, if you ever contact any member of this syndicate, or if you ever come within a hundred miles of Clara and Ellie Romano... my men will not use bullets. They will use the river.”
Vincent turned and walked toward the iron door.
“Vincent!” Dante shouted, his voice cracking with desperate emotion. “Vincent, look at me! You can't just erase me!”
Vincent paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the iron latch.
“Goodbye, Dante.”
May you like
The heavy door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place.
***
