Chapter 9 - THE BROTHER WHO WANTED HIS BLOODLINE ERASED
Anthony chose an abandoned Moretti warehouse near the Chicago River.
Appropriate.
The family had hidden sins there for generations.
Vincent wanted me to stay behind.
I refused.
Again.
“You’re becoming predictable,” he muttered.
“So are you.”
“How?”
“You keep trying to protect me by giving orders.”
He looked at me.
Then nodded.
“Point taken.”
That surprised me.
We entered together.
My mother sat tied to a chair beneath a hanging industrial light.
Anthony stood behind her.
Sixty-three years old.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
The polished uncle who had toasted our wedding.
The man who had bounced Lucas on his knee.
He looked almost disappointed.
“Claire.”
“Let my mother go.”
He smiled.
“She helped me voluntarily.”
Mom cried.
“I’m sorry.”
Anthony laughed.
“She says that often.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“You wanted Giovanni’s letter.”
“Give it to me.”
“It’s evidence.”
“So is your existence.”
Vincent stopped.
Anthony’s smile disappeared.
“Do you know what it was like growing up?”
“No.”
“Carlo got the name.”
Vincent said nothing.
“I got the blood.”
Anthony’s voice sharpened.
“Giovanni fathered me before he married. Then buried me inside the family as a nephew.”
Vincent looked stunned.
Anthony continued.
“Years later, Giovanni slept with Carlo’s wife.”
Vincent’s mother.
“And you were born.”
My stomach turned.
“He did it again,” Anthony said. “Another hidden son.”
Vincent’s voice was low.
“Carlo knew?”
“Yes.”
“And raised me anyway.”
“Yes.”
Something changed in Vincent’s face.
Not humiliation.
Respect.
For Carlo.
The man who had chosen to be his father.
Anthony hated that.
“You always got everything.”
Vincent stared at him.
“I didn’t even know.”
“That made it worse.”
Anthony pointed toward me.
“Then you married Claire.”
“What does she have to do with this?”
“Giovanni adored her.”
I almost laughed.
“He barely spoke to me.”
“He trusted you.”
Anthony’s expression twisted.
“He amended the succession structure because he believed Claire could stop you from becoming like him.”
Vincent looked at me.
Anthony continued.
“Then Emily was born.”
“And Giovanni created her trust,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why erase her?”
“Because the family charter recognized direct biological descendants of Giovanni.”
Emily qualified.
Vincent qualified.
Anthony qualified.
But Anthony’s branch had been legally excluded because of his birth status under the old charter.
He had blood.
No recognized power.
Emily had both.
“You hated a newborn baby because she outranked you?” I asked.
Anthony’s face hardened.
“I hated what she represented.”
Vincent took another step.
“You killed Carlo.”
Anthony said nothing.
“That silence is an answer.”
My mother began struggling.
“Claire, I’m sorry.”
Anthony pressed a gun against her head.
I froze.
“Don’t.”
Vincent lifted both hands.
“Take me instead.”
Anthony smiled.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“The boy who thinks dying for someone makes him noble.”
Vincent looked at me once.
Then back at Anthony.
“Let her go.”
Anthony’s attention shifted toward him.
That was enough.
My mother slammed her heel backward into his shin.
The gun moved.
Vincent lunged.
A shot exploded.
I screamed.
Anthony hit the floor.
Vincent staggered.
For one horrible second, I thought he had been shot.
Then I saw the blood.
Not Vincent’s.
Anthony’s.
Matteo’s security team flooded the warehouse.
Anthony had been hit in the leg.
Alive.
My mother sobbed.
I untied her.
She reached for me.
I stepped back.
The pain in her face nearly broke me.
Nearly.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Can you forgive me?”
I looked at her.
“Not tonight.”
Her face crumpled.
“But maybe someday.”
That was all I could offer.
Police took Anthony away.
Vincent stood near the river doors.
I approached him.
“You offered yourself for my mother.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at me like the answer was obvious.
“Because losing her would hurt you.”
Seven years ago, my pain had not stopped him from leaving.
Now it guided his decisions.
That difference frightened me almost as much as it moved me.
His phone buzzed.
Matteo handed it over.
“Boss, you need to see this.”
A federal warrant.
For Vincent Moretti.
Conspiracy.
Racketeering.
Financial crimes.
I looked at him.
He read it calmly.
“Are these Anthony’s charges?”
Matteo shook his head.
“No.”
The blood drained from my face.
May you like
Vincent looked toward me.
“These are mine.”
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