Chapter 2
The heavy silence in the dining room felt like ice freezing over a lake. Dante stood frozen under the glow of the chandelier, his navy suit sharp, but his eyes darting frantically between his brother and the three-year-old child.
"Vincent, come on," Dante chuckled smoothly, trying to regain his composure as he straightened his dark tie. "She’s three years old. She’s repeating nonsense she heard on television. You aren't actually listening to a child, are you?"
Vincent didn't look at Dante. He remained crouched beside Ellie's chair, his large hand gently resting on the edge of the table.
"I listen to everything in my house, Dante," Vincent said, his deep voice dangerously quiet.
Vincent stood up slowly, turning his full height toward Clara. Clara was shaking so hard her knees threatened to buckle. She kept her eyes fixed on the marble floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist as if trying to shrink away from the world.
"Clara," Vincent said, taking a slow step toward her. His black leather shoes made no sound against the Persian runner. "Look at me."
Clara swallowed hard, forcing her head up. Her rosy cheeks were flushed with fear, her soft brown eyes wide and tearful. "Mr. Moretti... please. I just want to do my job. I don't want any trouble."
"You aren't in trouble," Vincent assured her, his tone softer than anyone in the syndicate had ever heard it. "Ellie said Dante makes you hide something. What is it?"
Dante took a sharp step forward. "Clara, think very carefully before you answer—"
Vincent moved like a shadow. In less than a second, his broad hand clamped down on Dante's chest, shoving his younger brother back against the mahogany sideboard with enough force to rattle the crystal decanters.
"Speak to her again in that tone, Dante, and we will have this conversation in the basement," Vincent growled, his jaw set like iron, dark tattoos taut against his skin.
Clara gasped, covering her mouth. Ellie held her one-eyed bear tighter, watching Vincent with wide, trusting eyes.
"It's... it's in the linen closet on the third floor," Clara whispered, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "Behind the bottom drawer. A small velvet pouch. He... he told me if I ever touched it or told you, he would have child services take Ellie away from me."
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Vincent turned his head slowly to look at Dante, whose face had gone completely pale.
"Dante," Vincent murmured, his eyes turning to black ice. "Walk upstairs with me."
