Chapter 2 - The Sins of the Father
The metallic scent of blood overwhelmed the heavy floral perfume of the hotel suite.
Rachel covered her mouth, fighting the violent urge to be sick. She backed against the wall, her eyes wide, staring at the carnage.
Vincent walked through the room with the casual grace of a predator inspecting its territory. He didn't look at the bodies. He looked at the knife pinning the million-dollar diamond to the table.
“Clean,” Vincent said, his voice echoing in the dead silence. “Professional. This wasn’t a sloppy hit. This was a message.”
He yanked the knife free and picked up the ring, tossing it to Marcus.
“Isabella’s men were waiting for Rachel,” Vincent deduced, his mind working faster than anyone else in the room. “But somebody else got here first. Somebody who wanted to protect the Rossi bloodline. Or control it.”
Vincent turned slowly, aiming his gun directly at Frank’s chest.
“Talk,” Vincent commanded.
Frank didn’t flinch. He looked at the barrel of the gun, then up at the son of his dead best friend.
“Put it down, Vinnie. You don’t know what you’re stepping into.”
“I’m stepping into the truth,” Vincent snarled, closing the distance between them until the gun pressed against Frank’s expensive tie. “The text message said I don't know why my uncle died. You told me it was a car accident on the icy roads in Jersey. Twenty-three years ago.”
“It was,” Frank said quietly.
“Who was driving the truck that hit him, Frank?”
Silence stretched between them. A heavy, suffocating weight.
Rachel watched, paralyzed, as the two most powerful men in the city stood on the brink of murder.
“Your father,” Frank finally whispered.
Vincent froze. The hand holding the gun trembled for a fraction of a second.
“My father ordered a hit on his own brother?”
Frank closed his eyes. “Daniel wanted out. He fell in love with a civilian. A waitress from South Philly.” Frank looked at Rachel. “Your mother. Daniel wanted to take his cut of the family money and disappear. Go legitimate. Your father believed nobody leaves the family alive. It sets a dangerous precedent.”
Rachel let out a broken sob. “My mother knew? She knew he was murdered?”
“No,” Frank said softly. “She thought he abandoned her. I made sure of it. I faked the factory accident story. I gave her an envelope of cash every month from an ‘anonymous benefactor’ so she could raise you. I hid you from Vincent’s father. And I hid you from Vincent.”
“Why?” Vincent demanded, his voice cracking with a terrifying rage. “Why hide her from me?”
“Because your father made me swear that if a Rossi ever tried to walk away again, I would put them in the ground!” Frank shouted, his composure finally breaking. “I was protecting her from you!”
Before Vincent could process the betrayal, Rachel’s phone buzzed in her apron pocket.
In the dead silent room, the vibration sounded like a chainsaw.
Rachel pulled it out with shaking, blood-spattered hands.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
She answered it, pressing it to her ear.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Rachel.”
It was her mother’s voice. But it sounded wrong. Weak. Terrified.
“Mom? Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“Rachel, please do what they say. Please—”
The line muffled. Then a new voice came through the speaker. Smooth. Cultured. Deadly.
May you like
Isabella.
“Hello, little sister,” Isabella said smoothly. “It seems Frank’s secrets have finally caught up with him. If you want to see your mother alive, you are going to walk out of that hotel without Vincent. Just you. Or I will finish the job Vincent’s father started twenty-three years ago.”
