Chapter 8 - THE ROSES
Vincent’s fist collided with Antonio’s jaw with a sickening crack.
Antonio dropped the gun, blood spraying across the pristine white stone of the terrace.
He tried to fight back, swinging wildly, but Vincent was fueled by a terrifying, primal rage. He didn't just punch his brother; he dismantled him.
Every blow was payback for the six years his father spent trapped in silence. Every hit was for the terror Sophie had just endured.
“Vincent, that’s enough!” a frail voice called out.
Vincent froze, his fist raised in the air, his knuckles bruised and bloody.
He looked up at the balcony.
Nicholas was leaning heavily on the railing, looking down at his two sons. The old man’s eyes were filled with profound sorrow, but his command was absolute.
“He is broken,” Nicholas rasped. “Leave him for the law.”
Vincent breathed heavily, his chest heaving. He slowly lowered his fist.
He stood up, leaving Antonio groaning and bloody on the stone floor.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The politicians who had been attending the gala had already called the real authorities, eager to distance themselves from the crumbling Romano-Bellini coup.
Vincent didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at his defeated brother.
He turned immediately to Sophie.
She was sitting on the ground, holding her stomach, trembling violently.
Vincent dropped to his knees beside her, his large hands gently gripping her shoulders.
“Sophie,” he breathed, his voice panicked. “Are you hurt? Did he hit you?”
“I’m okay,” Sophie sobbed, leaning forward into his chest. “I’m okay. He missed.”
Vincent wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her hair. He held her as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
“You’re safe,” he whispered fiercely against her ear. “I’ve got you.”
The police swarmed the estate minutes later.
Antonio was dragged away in handcuffs, screaming obscenities until they shoved him into the back of a squad car. Mrs. Hargrove was loaded into an ambulance, heavily guarded, ready to confess to everything the moment the painkillers kicked in.
The gala guests were dispersed, leaving the grand mansion eerily quiet.
An hour later, the estate was finally peaceful.
Vincent carried his father back downstairs, setting him gently into an armchair in the grand living room. The exertion had exhausted the old man, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there for six years.
Sophie sat on the sofa opposite them, a warm blanket draped over her shoulders, holding a mug of chamomile tea Vincent had made for her.
“How do you feel, Dad?” Vincent asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.
Nicholas smiled faintly.
“Like I’ve woken up from a long, bad dream,” Nicholas rasped.
He looked at Sophie.
“You gave me the sun, little bird,” Nicholas said softly. “When everyone else left me in the dark.”
Sophie wiped a tear from her cheek. “I just wanted you to see your roses, Mr. Nicholas.”
Nicholas nodded slowly.
He looked at Vincent.
“The house is yours now, Vincent,” Nicholas said. “I’m too old for this world. I’m moving to the lake house in Michigan. Quiet. No stairs. No drama.”
Vincent smiled sadly. “I’ll come visit every weekend.”
“You better,” Nicholas grunted.
Then, the old man’s eyes shifted back to Sophie. He looked at her swollen belly, then up at his son.
“You’re going to need a lot of space for that little girl,” Nicholas said to Vincent, a sly, knowing glint in his eye.
Vincent’s face flushed slightly, but he didn't look away from his father.
“I think she’ll like the gardens here,” Vincent said quietly.
Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. She looked at Vincent, her breath catching in her throat.
Was he asking her to stay?
Before she could process the moment, Matteo walked into the living room, looking grim.
“Boss,” Matteo said quietly. “The police finished sweeping Antonio’s office. You need to see this.”
Vincent stood up, his protective instincts instantly flaring. “What did they find?”
Matteo handed Vincent a small, heavily encrypted flash drive.
“It’s a list of offshore accounts,” Matteo said. “Antonio wasn't just stealing your father’s money. He was funneling it.”
“To who?” Vincent asked, plugging the drive into a laptop on the desk.
He typed in a few commands, breaking Antonio’s weak encryption. A massive spreadsheet appeared on the screen.
Vincent’s eyes scanned the names.
Suddenly, he stopped.
He turned around and looked at Sophie, his expression completely unreadable.
“Sophie,” Vincent said, his voice eerily calm. “What did you say your husband’s name was?”
Sophie frowned, confused by the sudden change in subject.
“David,” she said nervously. “David Miller.”
Vincent turned the laptop around so she could see the screen.
May you like
Highlighted in bright yellow, receiving monthly deposits of ten thousand dollars from Antonio’s fake LLC, was the name David Miller.
“Your husband didn't abandon you, Sophie,” Vincent said quietly. “He was paid to leave.”
