Chapter 8 - The True Target|
Vincent listened to Julianna’s confession without blinking. The pieces of the puzzle slammed together with violent clarity.
The poison was never meant to just end his life. It was meant to destroy his legacy.
If Vincent died of a mysterious heart attack, Marco would inherit control of the Moretti assets as the sole surviving heir. Simultaneously, Julianna's father—Judge Vance—would release forged financial documents proving Vincent was a corrupt mobster who had stolen hundreds of millions from his own partners.
The syndicate would disavow Vincent's memory. The government would seize his estate. And Marco would step forward as the clean, heroic brother who saved the family from ruin, reigning supreme with total immunity.
"A masterclass in treachery," Vincent murmured, setting his glass down on the desk. "You worked with the Vance family to sell out your own blood."
Marco didn't deny it. He slowly reached into his inner jacket pocket.
Click.
Paul stepped out from the shadows near the bookshelf, holding a heavy 1911 pistol aimed directly at the back of Marco's head.
"Hands out of the jacket, Marco," Paul ordered coldly.
Marco froze. He slowly pulled his hand back out, empty, and let out a dry, bitter laugh.
"You always were the paranoid one, Vincent," Marco sneered, turning his head slightly toward Paul before looking back at his brother. "You sat on this throne for ten years, hoarding the wealth father built, while I played the corporate lapdog in New York! You think you deserve any of this? You're a dinosaur. The world doesn't operate on street loyalty anymore. It operates on political leverage."
"And you thought a six-year-old child wouldn't ruin your political leverage?" Vincent asked softly.
Marco frowned, genuine confusion crossing his features. "A child?"
"Maria's daughter saw Julianna in the dining room," Vincent revealed. "She stopped me before the bread reached my lips."
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Marco stared at Vincent, a look of utter absurdity crossing his face, before he burst into a dark, mocking laugh.
"A maid's kid?" Marco laughed, shaking his head. "My entire multi-million dollar strategy... derailed by a six-year-old brat?"
