Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH OF THE BETRAYAL
Julian stared at the yellow train ticket, his confident facade shattering into a million pieces.
“That’s a fake,” Julian snarled, taking a step toward Luca. “Michael never knew I was leaving that night.”
“He knew everything,” Luca said, his voice dripping with venom. “He knew you were stealing from the family. He knew you were planning to flee to Montreal after sabotaging his car. This ticket proves he caught you.”
Julian’s hand shook as he kept the gun leveled.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead. And I built this empire while you were busy playing the grieving son.”
“You built nothing,” Arthur Bell interrupted softly.
Julian whipped the gun toward the old man. “I said shut up!”
Arthur didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached into his breast pocket.
“Michael didn’t just give me the envelope and the pocket watch,” Arthur said, his weathered hands steady. “He gave me a photograph. He told me to keep it safe until the boy was ready to see the truth.”
Julian’s face went pale. “Don’t.”
Arthur pulled out a small, glossy photograph and tossed it onto the mahogany dining table.
It landed face up.
Luca looked down.
I leaned in, my heart pounding in my throat.
It was a surveillance photo, taken in the dead of night.
It showed Julian standing in a dark alley. But he wasn’t alone.
He was shaking hands with a man wearing an FBI windbreaker.
“You weren’t just a traitor,” Luca whispered, the absolute betrayal breaking his voice. “You were an informant. You sold out my father to save yourself.”
Julian backed toward the dining room doors, grabbing Vanessa by the arm and dragging her in front of him as a shield.
Vanessa shrieked, struggling against his grip.
“Let her go!” Luca roared, his own men finally drawing their weapons, filling the room with the sound of clicking metal.
“Nobody moves!” Julian yelled, pressing the barrel of his gun against Vanessa’s temple. “I walk out of here, or she dies. And if I die, the FBI gets everything. I have ledgers, Luca. Thirty years of blood on paper.”
Vanessa was sobbing, her red dress caught under Julian’s heavy boots.
“Luca, please,” she cried.
I looked around the room. There were six armed guards, but none of them had a clean shot. Julian had positioned himself perfectly in the corner.
He was going to escape.
Then, a small voice broke through the terror.
“Mommy?”
Everyone froze.
Standing in the doorway of the service hallway was a little girl.
She was no older than ten, wearing a simple pink nightgown, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
She looked exactly like Vanessa.
Julian spun around, completely caught off guard.
Vanessa let out an agonizing, primal scream. “Lily, run!”
But Julian didn’t let go of Vanessa. Instead, he smiled, a sick, twisted expression of victory.
May you like
He pointed the gun directly at the little girl.
“Well,” Julian whispered. “Looks like I found my new insurance policy.”
