The Sins Of The Father

“You’re protecting the boy?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper in the dim coatroom.

Marco tossed the shattered phone into a nearby wastebasket.

“I swore an oath to Dante’s grandfather twenty years ago. The Carusos are my family. But Carmine went too far when he ran his own son off the road. I won’t let Camille finish the job.”

Marco reached into his jacket and pulled out a two-way radio.

“Team Two, status?” he muttered into the mic.

Static crackled, followed by a crisp voice.

“Target secured at the marina. Hostiles neutralized. The boy is safe.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Leo was safe.

“Come with me,” Marco ordered, turning back toward the dining room.

“Dante needs to know.”

We walked back through the service corridor.

As Marco pushed the heavy oak doors open, the tension in the dining room hit me like a physical wall.

Camille was still standing confidently, checking her bare wrist where her watch used to be.

“You have four minutes, Dante. Tell Marco to bring my coat and open the gates.”

Dante looked at Marco as we stepped into the room.

Marco didn’t speak. He just gave a single, firm nod.

The change in Dante was instantaneous.

The fear evaporated from his eyes, replaced by a cold, terrifying wrath.

He took a step toward Camille.

“My nephew is safe. My men have him.”

Camille’s arrogant smile vanished.

“That’s a bluff. You don’t know where he is.”

“Marina warehouse, Pier 4,” Marco stated loudly from the doorway. “Your men are currently tied to steel pillars. The boy is in a secure vehicle on his way here.”

Camille’s face drained of color.

She took a frantic step backward, her high heel catching on the edge of the Persian rug. She stumbled, catching herself on the table.

Sarah let out a sob of pure relief, collapsing into an empty chair.

“It’s over, Camille,” Dante said softly.

He reached out, grabbed her left hand, and forcefully pulled the five-carat diamond engagement ring off her finger.

He tossed it onto the table. It clattered against a crystal wine glass.

“You’re done,” Dante said. “You have nothing left to trade.”

Camille looked around the room. She was surrounded.

But then, her panicked eyes landed on Carmine Caruso.

The old patriarch was still sitting at the end of the table, calmly watching the destruction of the engagement he had orchestrated.

“Carmine!” Camille shrieked. “Do something! If he takes me down, I’ll tell the feds everything! I’ll tell them about the shipping routes!”

Carmine didn’t move.

He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, heavy silver rosary.

He tossed it onto the table.

“You’re not going to tell the feds anything, Camille,” Carmine said gruffly.

“Because you’re the one who cut the brake lines on Sarah’s car that night.”

The entire room fell dead silent.

Dante stared at the rosary.

“That belonged to Daniel.”

“I found it in the mud beneath Sarah’s car after the crash,” Carmine said, looking at his son.

“The brake line was sliced clean. Sarah didn’t lose control. She had no brakes. And Camille was the only one who had access to Sarah’s car at the gala.”

Camille shook her head wildly.

“He’s lying! He’s trying to pin the murder on me!”

“You followed him out of jealousy,” Carmine spat. “You realized Daniel wasn’t going to pay you. He was going to run away with his wife. So you made sure they didn’t get far.”

Dante’s eyes shifted from his father to his ex-fiancée.

The betrayal was so deep, it felt toxic in the air.

“Dante, listen to me,” Camille pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t cut the brakes! I didn’t kill Daniel!”

“Then who did?” Dante roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandeliers.

Before Camille could answer, the older businessman sitting to Dante’s left stood up.

He was a quiet man. Impeccably dressed. He had barely spoken all evening.

Victor Thorne.

One of the most powerful real estate developers in Chicago.

Victor smoothly buttoned his suit jacket.

“She didn’t cut the brakes, Dante,” Victor said, his voice cultured and calm.