Chapter 7 - THE WATCH
The name settled over the ballroom like a shroud.
Don Carlo. The patriarch of the oldest crime family in the city, the man who had supposedly retired from the syndicate to run legitimate charities alongside the Romanos. The man Matteo had called 'Uncle' since childhood.
Matteo gripped the rose gold Patek Philippe so tightly the metal dug into his palm. The betrayal wasn’t just business. It was deeply, irreparably personal.
“Secure the perimeter,” Matteo commanded his remaining loyal men, his voice returning to absolute, icy authority. “Nobody moves. If the police arrive, delay them. This ends tonight.”
He turned away from Luca, who was groaning on the floor, and walked toward the center of the room.
Vanessa Sinclair was kneeling in the spilled champagne, her silver dress stained crimson. She held her father’s head in her lap, sobbing uncontrollably.
Richard Sinclair was dying. The two bullets had struck him in the chest, and his breathing was shallow, a wet, ragged sound that echoed in the quiet room.
Abigail remained on the floor a few feet away, holding Lily tightly to her chest. She shielded her daughter’s eyes from the blood, but she couldn’t look away from the man who had ruined her life, now gasping for his own.
Richard’s eyes fluttered open. He looked up at Vanessa, his hand trembling as he reached up to touch her tear-streaked face.
“I’m sorry, Vannie,” Richard wheezed, his voice bubbling with blood. “I wanted to give you the world. I just… I built it on dirt.”
“It’s okay, Daddy, please don’t talk, the ambulance is coming,” Vanessa wept, the arrogant heiress entirely stripped away, leaving only a terrified daughter.
“No,” Richard whispered. He turned his head slightly, his fading eyes locking onto Abigail.
“Abigail,” Richard rasped.
Abigail hesitated, clutching Lily closer, but she slowly crawled a few inches forward.
“Your husband,” Richard choked out, coughing weakly. “David was… a brave man. He came to my office. He showed me the bracelet. He told me to go to the police. He tried to give me a chance to do the right thing.”
Abigail’s tears fell silently. “And you let them kill him.”
“I was a coward,” Richard wept, the regret carving deep lines into his face. “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry.”
Richard reached into the inner pocket of his ruined tuxedo. His hand shook so badly he could barely manage it, but he pulled out a heavy, platinum necklace.
It was a thick, industrial-looking chain, far too ugly to be jewelry.
He pressed it into Vanessa’s bloody hands.
“Vannie, listen to me,” Richard gasped, his strength fading fast. “The companies. The charities. It’s all a front for Carlo. He’s been washing the syndicate’s money through our accounts for a decade. The evidence… the ledgers…”
He tapped the heavy platinum pendant on the necklace.
“It’s a micro-drive. Everything is on it. Give it to Matteo. Let it burn.”
Vanessa stared at the necklace, horrified. “Dad, please—”
Richard’s eyes rolled back, and with one final, shuddering exhale, the billionaire executive was gone.
Vanessa let out a guttural, heartbreaking wail, burying her face in her father’s chest.
Matteo stood over them, his eyes dark with solemn respect for a man who had died trying to right a lifetime of wrongs. He knelt down and gently placed a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder.
“Vanessa,” Matteo said softly. “I need the necklace.”
Vanessa looked up at him, her eyes burning with grief and a newfound, raw anger. She didn’t argue. She handed the heavy platinum chain to Matteo.
“Burn him, Matteo,” Vanessa whispered viciously. “Burn Don Carlo to the ground.”
Matteo stood up, clutching the necklace containing the micro-drive. He had the proof. He had the power to destroy the man who had murdered his father, orchestrated the hit on his sister, and ruined countless lives.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The slow, mocking sound of applause echoed from the sweeping mahogany staircase leading to the VIP lounge.
Every head in the ballroom turned.
Standing at the top of the stairs, wearing an immaculate white tuxedo, was Don Carlo.
He was an old man, leaning slightly on a silver-tipped cane, but his eyes were sharp, cold, and utterly devoid of mercy.
And he wasn’t alone.
Flanking him on the stairs were not mafia thugs, but a dozen heavily armed, tactical police officers in full SWAT gear. The corrupt heart of the city’s law enforcement, bought and paid for by Carlo’s endless wealth.
“A touching performance, Richard,” Don Carlo said, his voice echoing smoothly down the stairs. “A tragic end to a weak man.”
Matteo’s guards raised their weapons, but they were hopelessly outgunned by the tactical rifles aimed down at them.
“It’s over, Carlo,” Matteo said, his voice carrying clearly across the room. He held up the platinum necklace. “I have the ledgers. The FBI will have this in ten minutes.”
Don Carlo smiled, a slow, reptilian stretching of his lips.
“I don’t think so, my boy,” Don Carlo chuckled. “Because you see, Matteo, you are currently standing in a locked room with a dead executive and a dying security guard. The official police report will state that Matteo Romano, known organized crime figure, lost his mind and executed his rivals at a charity gala before the heroic police force was forced to gun him down.”
May you like
Carlo descended two steps, tapping his cane.
“You have the ledgers, Matteo,” Don Carlo smiled. “But I have the building surrounded.”
