A Little Girl Made Me Laugh for the First Time Since My Wife Died—Then She Pointed at the Locked Room and Said, “The Pretty Lady Told Me.”

Thirty minutes later, the grand library of the Falcone estate was surrounded by Dante’s most loyal veterans, disarming Marco’s enforcers under Councilman Vieri’s direct supervision.

Dr. Kenneth Vance sat in a leather armchair in the center of the room. He was a frail man in his late fifties, his tweed jacket disheveled, trembling under the cold glares of the Chicago mob.

Dante stood over him, Carmela’s ledger open on the desk.

"You signed Carmela’s death certificate, Kenneth," Dante said softly, his voice more terrifying than a shout. "You listed cause of death as blunt force trauma and severe burns resulting from an automobile collision."

Dr. Vance swallowed hard, looking desperately toward Marco, who stood under guard near the heavy oak bookshelves. Marco’s face was unreadable.

"I... I was called to the morgue by the coroner's office," Dr. Vance stammered. "The body was charred beyond recognition. The dental records matched."

Dante slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk. The crack echoed like a gunshot.

"Tell me about the arsenic, Doctor!" Dante snarled. "The entries in this book state Carmela paid you fifty thousand dollars on May twelfth for a private toxicology screen. What did you find?"

Dr. Vance began to weep, covering his face with trembling hands. "She was dying! Someone was putting low doses of heavy metals in her tea over six months! Her liver was failing!"

Vieri’s face turned to stone. "Who paid you to stay silent, Kenneth?"

Dr. Vance looked up, his eyes wide with terror. He pointed a shaking finger across the room.

Not at Marco.

He pointed directly at Councilman Vieri.

The room fell into suffocating silence.

"You," Dr. Vance choked out. "You came to my clinic three days after Carmela hired me. You told me if I went to Dante, my family would burn. You gave me two hundred thousand dollars to keep giving her placebos instead of the chelating antidote!"

Dante slowly turned his head toward Old Man Vieri.

Vieri didn't flinch. The frail old man leaned on his cane, a cold, mocking smile touching his thin lips.

"Carmela discovered our shipping routes through the Great Lakes, Dante," Vieri said smoothly, showing no remorse. "She was going to take half your empire in a divorce and hand the records to the federal prosecutor. She was a liability to the entire syndicate. I did what was necessary to protect the family."

"And the car crash?" Dante whispered, his knuckles white.

"The car crash was Julian's attempt to smuggle her out of Chicago," Vieri said coldly. "We intercepted the vehicle on Lake Shore Drive. But Carmela wasn't in the car, Dante."