Chapter 4 - THE GROCERY STORE DEED
The dining room descended into a stunned silence.
Vincent stared at his mother. The fragile, frightened woman who had brought a peanut butter sandwich to an engagement dinner was gone. Florence sat completely straight in her tufted chair, her chin held high, her eyes locking onto Valentina with a lifetime of hard-earned grit.
“What did Dad hide in the store walls, Mom?” Vincent asked softly.
Florence adjusted her cardigan. “When your father was running the neighborhood, he didn't trust banks. And he didn't trust his lieutenants. Before he died, he took the original blackmail ledgers—the ones detailing every corrupt judge, police captain, and politician in Chicago—and sealed them in the foundation of the old store.”
Several of the wealthy guests at the table—men with political aspirations and municipal contracts—visibly paled.
“Those ledgers are a myth,” a state senator muttered from the far end of the table.
“They are real,” Florence said firmly. “And Antonio made me swear on his grave never to tell anyone where they were. He said they were a poison that would destroy the family if they ever saw the light of day.”
Vincent looked at Valentina. “How did you know about the ledgers?”
Valentina’s back was pressed flat against the glass doors. Her red dress looked suddenly garish, a desperate costume on a woman who had played completely out of her league.
“I found a letter in your safe,” Valentina confessed, her voice shaking. “An old letter your father wrote to Florence. It mentioned the foundation of the store. I knew if I could get the deed, I could sell those ledgers to your rivals for millions. But the deed wasn't in your name, Vincent. Your father left the store to Florence.”
“So you starved her,” Vincent said, taking a slow step toward her. “You isolated her. You tried to break her mind so she would sign the deed over to you. And when that didn't work, you hired a thug to declare her incompetent.”
Valentina began to cry, thick streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. “I did it for us, Vincent! We could have had unlimited power!”
“We already have power,” Vincent said coldly.
He gestured to his guards. “Search Vance. Find the forged deed.”
One of the massive guards hauled Thomas Vance to his feet and patted him down. He pulled a folded blue legal document from Vance's inner pocket and handed it to Vincent.
Vincent unfolded the deed. He scanned the legal jargon, his eyes dropping to the bottom of the page where the transfer of ownership was recorded.
He went perfectly still.
He didn't yell. He didn't move. He just stared at the ink on the paper.
“Vincent?” Florence asked, sensing the shift in her son’s demeanor. “What is it?”
Vincent looked up. His face had turned to stone.
“This deed transfers ownership of the store from Florence Caruso to a holding company,” Vincent said, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
“Yes,” Valentina sobbed. “My holding company!”
“No,” Vincent corrected.
He walked over and placed the deed on the table in front of his mother.
“Read the signature of the purchasing agent,” Vincent commanded.
Florence put on her reading glasses. She looked at the blue ink on the bottom line. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
I leaned closer, glancing at the paper.
The signature was bold, erratic, and deeply familiar to anyone who knew the Caruso family history.
It read: Leo Caruso.
Vincent’s younger brother.
The brother who had supposedly died in a car bombing in Miami seven years ago.
May you like
“Leo is dead,” Florence whispered, tears instantly filling her eyes. “My baby died.”
“Apparently not,” Vincent said. He turned his terrifying gaze back to Valentina. “You aren't working alone. You’re working for my dead brother.”
