Chapter 4 - THE BROTHER WHO WANTED HIS THRONEAnthony disappeared before Vincent’s men reached the balcony.
The shooting changed everything.
Until that night, Anthony’s betrayal had remained a family secret.
Now he had challenged Vincent in public.
In the underworld, public challenges demanded answers.
For the next week, Chicago divided.
Old allies chose sides.
Money moved.
Businesses suddenly changed suppliers.
Police officers who had once looked away began asking questions.
Three of Vincent’s captains requested private meetings.
Clara understood almost none of it.
She understood danger.
That was enough.
The mansion became impossible.
Guards at every door.
Cars following them.
Leo’s school temporarily replaced with private tutoring.
Clara hated it.
Vincent became quieter.
He worked past midnight.
Slept little.
Ate less.
Every time Clara passed his study, she saw maps, photographs and names.
One night she entered without knocking.
“You haven’t eaten.”
Vincent looked up.
“Good evening to you too.”
She placed soup beside him.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“You cannot defeat your brother by starving.”
“That isn’t the strategy.”
“Your strategy appears to be becoming a haunted lamp.”
Vincent stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Tall. Pale. Standing in a corner.”
He looked down at the soup.
Then ate.
Clara sat across from him.
“Why does Anthony hate you?”
“He doesn’t.”
“That’s worse.”
“Yes.”
Vincent closed a file.
“Our father raised us competitively.”
“How?”
“When I was nine, he gave Anthony and me one bicycle.”
Clara frowned.
“You shared?”
“No.”
“He told us whoever reached the garage first each morning could use it.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was educational.”
“It taught you to run?”
“It taught Anthony that anything I had meant he had lost.”
Clara’s expression softened.
“What happened?”
“I started waking up thirty minutes earlier.”
She groaned.
“You were both idiots.”
“Yes.”
Vincent looked toward the fire.
“When our father died, Anthony expected the organization to be divided.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Father left control to me.”
“Because you were older?”
“By eleven minutes.”
Clara blinked.
“You’re twins?”
“Fraternal.”
“That explains so much.”
“What does it explain?”
“I’ll tell you after I survive your family.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Then Clara noticed a photograph on his desk.
Vincent and Anthony as boys.
Between them stood a woman.
Beautiful.
Dark-haired.
Vincent’s mother.
“You look happy.”
“We were.”
“What happened to her?”
Vincent’s eyes changed.
“She died when we were nineteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Cancer.”
Clara looked at the picture.
“She knew about your father’s business?”
“Yes.”
“Did she approve?”
“No.”
“Did that matter?”
“To me.”
He looked at Clara.
“More than I understood then.”
Something warm and dangerous moved between them.
Clara stood quickly.
“I should check Leo.”
Vincent watched her leave.
The next morning, Leo wandered into Vincent’s study holding a broken wooden airplane.
“Mr. Vincent?”
Vincent looked up.
Leo had refused every suggestion of calling him anything else.
“Yes?”
“Can you fix this?”
Vincent examined it.
One wing had snapped.
“Probably.”
“My mom says you have people for everything.”
“She says that?”
“Yes.”
“What else does your mother say?”
Leo thought.
“She says you need sleep.”
Vincent looked toward the hallway.
Clara was nowhere visible.
He took the airplane.
“Glue.”
Leo climbed into the chair opposite him.
Vincent found a repair kit.
“You’re good at that.”
“My mother taught me.”
“Your mommy?”
Vincent paused.
“My mother.”
“Oh.”
Leo kicked his feet.
“Do you miss her?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
Vincent looked up.
“Your mother is upstairs.”
“My dad.”
Vincent became still.
Clara rarely discussed Leo’s father.
“He left?”
Leo nodded.
“He said having me made his life too hard.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
Leo continued.
“Mom says grown-ups sometimes say stupid things.”
“Your mother is correct.”
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Vincent hesitated.
Children had no respect for forbidden subjects.
“I can’t.”
Leo considered this.
“Like how Mom can’t whistle?”
Vincent blinked.
“Something like that.”
“That’s okay.”
Leo returned his attention to the airplane.
Vincent stared at him.
“That’s all?”
Leo looked confused.
“Were you supposed to have kids?”
Vincent had spent seven years being treated as defective by grown adults.
A five-year-old had solved the issue in six seconds.
Vincent handed him the repaired plane.
“There.”
“Thank you.”
Leo ran out.
Vincent sat alone afterward.
Something inside him hurt.
Clara found him there.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Leo told me he asked you something personal.”
“He did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She leaned against the doorway.
“He asks everyone everything.”
“I noticed.”
“Last month he asked our landlord why his nose was purple.”
Vincent laughed.
A real laugh.
Clara stared.
He looked younger when he laughed.
Less dangerous.
More dangerous to her, perhaps.
His phone rang.
The moment disappeared.
Carmine entered seconds later.
“Anthony sent terms.”
Vincent read the message.
“What does he want?” Clara asked.
“Half the organization.”
“And?”
Vincent’s face hardened.
“You.”
Clara stopped.
“Me?”
“He says he’ll end hostilities if the marriage is annulled and you leave Chicago.”
“Why does he care?”
Vincent looked at her.
“Because my marriage worked.”
“What?”
“My allies stabilized.”
Carmine nodded.
“Several families refusing Anthony now say they won’t move against Vincent while his wife and child are under his protection.”
Clara felt sick.
“They think Leo is your child?”
“No,” Vincent said.
“They think he is my responsibility.”
Anthony’s message contained a final line.
GIVE UP THE WOMAN OR WATCH YOUR MEN DIE FOR HER.
Clara stood.
“You should do it.”
Vincent stared at her.
“What?”
“Send us away.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“No.”
“This is a contract.”
“Yes.”
“You are losing people.”
“My people choose their risks.”
“Leo doesn’t.”
Vincent stood.
“Which is why you remain where I can protect you.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You think this house is safe?”
“Yes.”
“It was attacked at a gala.”
“Not this house.”
“Your world, then.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You were already inside my world before I met you.”
“That doesn’t mean I should stay.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“You should stay because leaving is exactly what Anthony wants.”
Clara looked at him.
“That’s strategy.”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else?”
The question came out before she could stop it.
Vincent went silent.
Clara’s heart accelerated.
“Nothing else?” she repeated.
He moved closer.
“Do you want another answer?”
She should have said no.
Instead she whispered, “I don’t know.”
Vincent’s hand lifted.
Stopped.
He never touched her.
A knock interrupted them.
Samuel entered carrying an envelope.
“Boss.”
Vincent stepped away.
“What?”
“This was delivered for Mrs. Calvetti.”
Clara still hated hearing the name.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Leo walking beside his tutor in the mansion garden.
Taken that morning.
On the back:
WE CAN SEE HIM ANYTIME.
Clara’s blood went cold.
Vincent looked toward the windows.
The estate perimeter was supposedly impenetrable.
May you like
Someone had taken the photograph from inside.
There was a traitor in Vincent’s house.
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