Chapter 12
The heavy steel door groaned open, and Vincent walked into the cell, accompanied only by Marco. Vincent carried no weapons in his hands, only the black-and-white photograph pulled from Clara’s box. He threw the photograph onto the small metal table in front of Dante.
"Explain this," Vincent said, leaning his hands flat on the table, bringing his imposing frame down to eye level with his younger brother.
Dante scoffed, looking at the image with calculated indifference. "An old photo, Vince. You're going to break brotherhood over a yellowed piece of paper and the rambling word of a hysterical maid? She’s a servant! She probably stole those ledger documents herself to sell to the fed or the Cassanos!"
"Clara didn't steal anything, Dante," Vincent replied, his tone devoid of emotion. "She kept those documents because you forced her to cover your tracks. You used a mother’s fear for her child to shield your treason. But what interests me most isn't the money you funnelled out of the eastern docks." Vincent pointed a thick, tattooed finger directly at the scarred man in the photo. "That is Silvio Cassano. The man who led the raid seven years ago. You were standing next to him three hours before Sofia disappeared."
Dante’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "It was a meeting, Vince! Business! I was trying to negotiate a territorial truce to protect the family!"
"You sold the security codes," Vincent whispered, the realization striking him with devastating clarity. "You gave them the blind spots in the surveillance grid. You traded my daughter's life for a seat at the Cassano table."
Dante spat onto the cold concrete floor, his demeanor shifting from defensive to viciously arrogant. "You were weak, Vincent! You were spending all your time playing doting father while the city was burning around us! The family needed a leader who understood power, not a man crying over bedtime stories! I made a deal to secure our borders!"
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"Where is she, Dante?" Vincent took a step closer, his hands gripping the edges of the metal table until the iron groaned under his pressure. "Where is my daughter's body?"
Dante leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with dark malice. "Who said she was dead, brother?"
