Chapter 5 - THE UNCLE IN THE SHADOWS
“Uncle Carmine?” Vincent repeated, the name tasting strange on his tongue.
He hadn't seen his mother’s brother in twenty years. Carmine had always been the black sheep of the family—a brilliant but erratic man who despised the mafia lifestyle. He had walked away from the Bellini empire when Vincent was just a teenager, choosing a quiet life off the grid.
“Dad, nobody has heard from Carmine in two decades,” Vincent said gently. “We don't even know if he’s alive.”
Nicholas’s frail hand squeezed Vincent’s wrist again, weaker this time. The effort of speaking was draining his newly returned strength.
“He’s alive,” Nicholas rasped. “He... sends me a birthday card. Every year. To the PO box.”
Vincent stared at his father. “You’ve been in contact with him?”
“Only Carmine,” the old man coughed, his eyes drifting shut. “He has the Trust documents. He’s the only one who can legally evict Antonio.”
Nicholas’s grip went slack. The drugs were still fighting a war in his system, and exhaustion finally pulled him under. He fell into a deep, natural sleep.
Vincent stood up, his mind racing.
If Antonio didn't actually own the estate, his threat of exposing the family to the FBI was his only leverage. But if Vincent could prove the deed was forged, he could have Antonio arrested for fraud before the FBI ever got involved.
He turned to Sophie.
She was standing near the window, holding the diamond daisy necklace tightly in her hand, looking terrified.
“I have to find Carmine,” Vincent said, his voice tight. “I have to leave the city.”
“Sir, is it safe for him here?” Sophie asked, looking at the sleeping old man.
“The penthouse is a fortress,” Vincent assured her. “Matteo and ten of my best men will be stationed outside that door. Nobody gets in without my authorization.”
He walked over to Sophie, stopping just inches away from her.
He looked down at her swollen belly, then up into her nervous, beautiful eyes.
“I’m leaving the most precious thing I have in your care, Sophie,” Vincent said quietly.
Sophie swallowed hard. “I won't let anything happen to him, sir. I promise.”
“I know you won't,” Vincent said.
He didn't know why, but the absolute trust he felt in this young, pregnant woman terrified him more than the impending war with his brother.
Vincent left the penthouse within the hour.
He drove to the private postal facility in downtown Chicago. It took threatening the manager with a baseball bat to get access to Nicholas’s old, forgotten PO Box, but Vincent got it.
Inside the dusty metal box was a single, unopened birthday card.
The postmark was from three months ago.
Galesburg, Illinois.
A small, quiet town three hours away.
Vincent drove through the night. The rain had stopped, leaving the highways slick and black under the moonlight.
He arrived in Galesburg just as the sun began to rise.
Following the return address on the envelope, Vincent pulled his SUV up to a small, rundown farmhouse on the outskirts of town.
The paint was peeling. An old tractor sat rusting in the front yard. It didn't look like the home of a man holding the key to a multi-million-dollar estate.
Vincent stepped out of the car, his hand resting on the pistol holstered at his side.
He walked up the creaking wooden steps and knocked on the front door.
No answer.
He knocked harder.
“I have a shotgun pointed at your chest through the wood, boy,” a gruff voice called out from inside. “State your business or I’m painting my porch red.”
Vincent didn't flinch.
“It’s Vincent, Uncle Carmine. It’s your nephew.”
The silence stretched for ten agonizing seconds.
Then, the deadbolt clicked.
The door creaked open.
Standing in the doorway was an older man with wild gray hair, wearing worn overalls and holding a double-barreled shotgun. His eyes were identical to Vincent’s mother’s.
Carmine lowered the gun slowly.
“You look just like your father,” Carmine grunted. “Too damn stubborn for your own good.”
“He’s awake, Carmine,” Vincent said, cutting straight to the point. “My father is awake.”
Carmine’s eyes widened slightly. He stepped back, gesturing for Vincent to come inside.
The farmhouse was cluttered with old books, farming equipment, and empty coffee mugs.
“I knew Antonio was poisoning him,” Carmine muttered, leaning his shotgun against the wall. “I told Nicholas to let me handle the rat ten years ago. But your father always had a soft spot for his bastard son.”
“Antonio has a forged deed to the estate,” Vincent said. “He’s claiming ownership. Dad said you have the Irrevocable Trust documents.”
Carmine sighed, walking over to a dusty rolltop desk in the corner of the room.
“I do,” Carmine said, pulling a heavy iron key from his pocket. “Your father sent them to me a week before he had the stroke. He knew Antonio was planning a coup.”
Carmine unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk.
He pulled out a thick, blue-backed legal document and handed it to Vincent.
Vincent quickly scanned the pages.
The estate, the offshore accounts, the classic car collection—everything was legally bound in a Trust.
But as Vincent read the final page, his blood ran cold.
“Carmine,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This says the Trust only activates if my father passes away, or if he is declared legally competent by a state-appointed judge.”
“That’s right,” Carmine nodded. “It was designed to protect the assets from Antonio’s fake doctors.”
Vincent stared at his uncle.
“But if Dad is still legally declared incompetent, the Trust is dormant. Antonio’s forged Power of Attorney still controls the property.”
“Exactly,” Carmine said, crossing his arms. “Which is why your father needs to walk into a courtroom and prove to a judge that he’s sane.”
“He can't walk!” Vincent exploded, slamming the document onto the desk. “He can barely speak! He’s been paralyzed for six years!”
“Then you better find a damn good lawyer,” Carmine said bluntly. “Because until a judge bangs a gavel, Antonio legally owns your home.”
Vincent ran a hand through his dark hair, pacing the small farmhouse.
He had the proof, but he couldn't use it without exposing his father to a brutal public trial. A trial Antonio would undoubtedly try to sabotage.
Vincent’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
It was a frantic call from Matteo.
“Boss!” Matteo yelled over the line.
“What is it?”
“It’s Antonio. He didn't wait twenty-four hours.”
Vincent’s heart stopped. “What happened?”
“He used his fake legal authority to call the police. He reported you for kidnapping. The cops just raided the safe house.”
“Where is my father?!” Vincent roared.
“They took him, Boss. They took the old man back to the estate.”
“And Sophie?”
There was a heavy pause on the line.
May you like
“Matteo, where is she?”
“They arrested her, Boss. Antonio pressed charges for elder endangerment. She’s in county lockup.”
