Chapter 20 - The Sealed Envelope|
By October of the following year, a full year had passed since the morning a six-year-old girl had stopped a poisoned crust from reaching Vincent Moretti's lips.
The estate had been completely transformed. The heavy iron gates were often left open during the day, welcoming local charity committees, business partners, and neighborhood children who came to play on the vast lawns.
It was a crisp, clear autumn afternoon.
Vincent sat in his quiet study, reviewing the final construction blueprints for the Lorenzo & Emma Carter Children's Wing at Rhode Island General Hospital.
A soft knock sounded at the open study door.
Arthur, the senior butler who had managed the household affairs since Vincent's youth, stepped into the room carrying a silver tray.
Resting on the tray was a single, unadorned envelope made of heavy, expensive black parchment, sealed with a thick stamp of red wax.
Vincent looked up from his blueprints, his eyebrows knitting together slightly. "What's this, Arthur?"
"It arrived in the afternoon mail, Mr. Moretti," Arthur explained politely. "Delivered via diplomatic courier from London. It was marked for your personal attention only."
Vincent reached out, taking the heavy black envelope. There was no return address, no name, and no postage mark.
Only a single symbol stamped into the red wax: a stylized silver feather resting across an hourglass.
Vincent felt a subtle, lingering chill run down his spine—a shadow from a past he thought he had completely buried.
He picked up his silver letter opener, sliced through the top of the envelope, and pulled out a single sheet of heavy cream paper.
Written in elegant, flowing black calligraphy were four simple lines:
Vincent,
You played a remarkable game with your brother, the judge, and the state prosecutors.
You saved your name, and you built a fortress for the child.
But remember this: Victor Vance was merely a customer.
The poison in your father's safe came from our cellar.
And the contract on the Moretti legacy has no expiration date.
We will see you in Rome.
Vincent stared at the elegant ink on the page, the room suddenly dropping into a heavy, profound stillness.
From down the hallway, the sound of Emma’s bright, innocent laughter echoed off the marble walls as she played in the grand foyer.
Vincent slowly set the letter down on his desk, opened his bottom drawer, and looked down at his nickel-plated Beretta resting quietly in its leather holster.
He did not call for Paul. He did not lock the doors.
He slowly picked up his pen, clicked it open, and wrote a single word across the bottom of the black parchment before sliding it back into his drawer.
May you like
Ready.
Outside the window, the cold October wind swept across Federal Hill, swirling the golden autumn leaves into the darkening sky, while the shadow of a new, unseen war hovered silently on the horizon.
