Chapter 11 - THE DOCTOR WHO CREATED A NIGHTMARE
Vincent Hale looked nothing like a monster.
He wore a navy suit, polished shoes, and the calm expression of a man arriving for a business meeting.
That frightened me more than any weapon.
Salvatore moved Sofia behind him.
“Margaret, take her upstairs.”
Sofia clung to his hand.
“Are you leaving?”
He knelt.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Promise?”
His voice softened.
“I promise I'll do everything I can to stay.”
Margaret guided her away.
Outside, Vincent approached the porch.
Salvatore opened the door before he could knock.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Vincent smiled.
“Salvatore. You look well.”
“Eight years of soup didn't kill me.”
“No. Apparently not.”
His gaze shifted toward me.
“Dr. Russo. Your father was a remarkably inconvenient man.”
My stomach tightened.
“You knew him.”
“Very well.”
“Did you kill him?”
Vincent's smile faded.
“Your father had a heart condition.”
“He died from a heart attack.”
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
“And you knew that because?”
Vincent said nothing.
Salvatore's voice dropped.
“Why did you hide my daughter?”
Vincent looked toward the staircase.
“Because Isabella asked me to protect her.”
“From whom?”
“From you.”
Salvatore went still.
Vincent continued.
“You were a violent man, Salvatore. Your wife feared what would happen if your enemies discovered the child.”
“Then why did you tell everyone she was dead?”
“Because she wanted a new life.”
I looked at him.
“Then why did Margaret say you tried to kill Sofia?”
Vincent's expression changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“Margaret is confused.”
“No,” I said. “She's terrified.”
Vincent glanced toward the driveway.
His men were waiting.
Salvatore noticed.
“You brought a small army to visit a child?”
“Precautions.”
“Against your own brother?”
Vincent smiled.
“Half brother.”
The words landed like an insult.
Then he reached into his coat.
Marco appeared beside the porch.
“Hands where I can see them.”
Vincent slowly withdrew an envelope.
“Relax. I brought documents.”
He handed them to Salvatore.
Inside was a medical report.
A DNA analysis.
And a photograph of Isabella.
Alive.
Dated only three months earlier.
Salvatore stared at it.
“Where is she?”
Vincent's expression turned almost sympathetic.
“In a psychiatric facility. She's been unwell for years.”
“Which facility?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you're willing to give me what should have been mine.”
Salvatore's jaw tightened.
“The family business.”
“Control of the legitimate companies,” Vincent corrected. “Your shipping holdings. Your security contracts. Everything.”
“And if I refuse?”
Vincent glanced toward the stairs.
“Then Isabella remains lost. And Sofia's guardianship becomes a very complicated legal matter.”
I stepped forward.
“Threatening a child isn't negotiation.”
Vincent looked at me with cold amusement.
“Your father said something similar.”
Then he leaned closer.
“And do you know what Anthony Russo discovered before he died?”
I didn't answer.
Vincent smiled.
“He discovered that the bullet in Salvatore's jaw was never meant to kill him.”
Salvatore frowned.
“What?”
May you like
Vincent's next words froze us all.
“It was meant to make him trust the wrong person.”
