Chapter 6 - THE MISSING BEAD
The betrayal hit the hallway like a physical shockwave.
Vincent remained frozen on the marble stairs, his hands still gripping Isabella’s shoulders, staring down at his oldest friend. Marcus had been his shadow for fifteen years. He was the godfather to Mia.
“You,” Vincent breathed, the realization clicking into place with agonizing clarity. “You were the one driving the car that night.”
Marcus didn't flinch. He kept his pistol leveled directly at Vincent’s chest.
“Elena begged me to help her escape,” Marcus said casually, adjusting his suit jacket with his free hand. “She said she was taking the girl and the nurse to the train station. She offered me double my salary to keep quiet.”
Marcus let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
“But Isabella offered me half the empire. I made a phone call. We arranged the ‘accident’ on the coastal highway. I jumped out before the car went over the edge. Took the diamond bracelet as a down payment.”
“And my mother?” I asked, my voice trembling with a rage so profound it completely eclipsed my fear. I tightened my grip on the gun I had grabbed from the floor, pointing it at Marcus.
Marcus glanced at me, unimpressed.
“Collateral damage,” he said dismissively. “She shouldn’t have been in the car. But I pulled the kid out before it went over. I’m not a monster. I just wanted the payout.”
He looked back up at Vincent.
“Let Isabella up, Boss. Toss down the signet ring. And maybe I let the maid and the kid walk out the back door.”
Isabella shoved Vincent off her, scrambling to her feet. She smoothed her torn dress and walked proudly down the stairs to stand beside Marcus.
“Give him the ring, Vincent,” Isabella demanded, holding out her hand. “The Romano empire is over. You lost.”
Vincent stood up slowly. He looked at Mia, who was cowering behind my legs, clutching her torn stuffed rabbit. Then he looked at me, holding a gun I barely knew how to use, standing between his daughter and his betrayers.
The Mafia boss took a deep breath.
“You think you’re smart, Marcus,” Vincent said, his voice dropping an octave, returning to that terrifying, lethal calm. “But you made one mistake.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”
“You kept a trophy,” Vincent said, pointing at the diamond bracelet on the floor.
Marcus scoffed. “It’s worth fifty grand. I’m not throwing it away.”
“Elena never wore that bracelet without the matching rosary,” Vincent said softly.
Isabella frowned, looking confused. “What is he talking about, Marcus?”
“I know about the rosary, Marcus,” Vincent continued, taking a single, deliberate step down the stairs. “Because the police found it clutched in my wife's hand when they pulled her from the wreck. But it was broken.”
Marcus’s confident expression faltered slightly.
“The wire snapped,” Vincent said, taking another step. “And a single, heavy onyx bead was missing. I spent three years wondering how a reinforced rosary snaps during a car crash. Unless she was using it to fight someone off before the car went over.”
My mind raced. A heavy onyx bead.
I remembered earlier that evening, before the dinner party started. I had been organizing the coat closet. Isabella’s heavy winter coat had fallen off the hanger. When I picked it up, something had rolled out of the pocket.
A small, perfectly round, black onyx bead.
I had placed it on the console table, thinking it was a loose button.
“I found it,” I blurted out, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
Marcus and Isabella both snapped their heads toward me.
“I found the black bead,” I said, looking directly at Isabella. “It was in the pocket of your winter coat in the closet. The one you’ve owned for years.”
Isabella’s face drained of color. She looked at Marcus in pure panic.
“You idiot!” Isabella hissed at Marcus. “You told me she was dead when you left the car! You didn't tell me she fought back! You must have transferred the bead to me when you handed me the coat that night!”
“Shut up, Isabella!” Marcus barked.
But it was too late. The implication hung heavily in the air.
Marcus hadn't just arranged the crash. He had physically struggled with Elena inside the vehicle, tearing the rosary from her hands as she fought for her life and for my mother's life.
Vincent didn't wait for Marcus to recover his composure.
He roared, a sound of pure, unadulterated grief and fury, and launched himself off the bottom three stairs directly at Marcus.
Marcus panicked and fired.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed hallway.
I screamed, instinctively dropping to my knees and covering Mia.
Vincent slammed into Marcus like a freight train. The bullet had missed his chest, grazing his shoulder, but Vincent didn't even seem to feel it. The two massive men crashed backward into the heavy mahogany console table, splintering it into pieces.
“Lily! Run!” Vincent bellowed, pinning Marcus’s gun hand to the floor and driving a brutal punch into the traitor’s jaw.
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed Mia’s hand, pulling the little girl up.
“Come on, Mia!” I yelled, pulling her toward the back corridor that led to the kitchens.
But Isabella was faster.
She wasn't going to let her leverage escape. She lunged forward, grabbing the back of my uniform dress.
She yanked me backward with surprising strength, throwing me off balance. I crashed hard onto the marble floor, the gun spinning out of my hand and sliding across the hallway.
Isabella didn't go for the gun.
She lunged for Mia.
She grabbed the terrified seven-year-old by the arm, dragging her violently toward the front doors.
“Vincent!” Isabella screamed over the sounds of the brutal fistfight behind her. “Stop fighting, or I snap her neck right now!”
Vincent froze, his fist suspended in the air above Marcus’s bloody face.
He looked back, seeing Isabella gripping his daughter, her manicured nails digging deep into Mia’s small arm.
“Let her go,” Vincent breathed, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his grazed shoulder.
“The ring, Vincent,” Isabella demanded, her eyes wide and wild. “Throw me the ring, or the girl dies.”
Vincent slowly stood up, raising his hands in surrender. He reached for his right hand, gripping the heavy gold signet ring.
“Don't do it, Daddy!” Mia cried out, tears streaming down her face.
“It’s okay, principessa,” Vincent said softly, pulling the ring off his finger. “It’s just metal.”
He tossed the ring.
It landed near Isabella’s feet with a heavy clink.
Isabella smiled, a victorious, wicked grin. She bent down and scooped the ring into her pocket.
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“Thank you, darling,” Isabella sneered.
Then, she turned, keeping her tight grip on Mia, and began dragging the screaming child out the front doors into the dark night.
