Chapter 12 - Shadows of the Past|
Vincent felt the blood in his veins turn to slush.
His father, Lorenzo Moretti, had died six years ago at the age of sixty. The official cause of death listed on the death certificate was a sudden, massive myocardial infarction.
Vincent had held his father's hand in the hospital room as the heart monitor went flat. He had believed, for six agonizing years, that his father's heart had simply given out from decades of stress and heavy smoking.
"Who paid Mercer?" Vincent demanded, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper that shook the quiet room.
"I don't know the name!" Marco wept over the phone. "I swear to God, Vince, I don't know! I only found out three months ago when I found Mercer's private medical log in a safety deposit box in Manhattan! That's why I panicked! That's why I tried to take over the family—because whoever bought that poison six years ago is coming for you next!"
Vincent closed his eyes, his grip tightening around the satellite phone until his knuckles turned ghost-white.
"Where is Mercer's private medical log now?" Vincent asked.
"In the bottom drawer of father's old desk in the Newport beach house," Marco stammered. "Key is behind the brass clock on the mantelpiece. Vince... please... send me some money. I'm living in a rat-infested hotel near the docks—"
Vincent cut the line without another word.
He sat in the dark study for three long minutes, the heavy silence of the mansion pressing against his ears.
He stood up, pulled his heavy wool coat from the rack, and loaded a fresh magazine into his nickel-plated Beretta.
May you like
He walked out into the hallway, where Paul was standing guard near the grand staircase.
"Paul," Vincent ordered smoothly. "Get the SUV. We're driving to Newport."
