Chapter 2 - the dead brother's return
The hammer of Leo’s pistol clicked into place with a sharp, metallic ring that reverberated through the silent banquet hall.
Marcus backed away against the shattered remains of the table, his hands raising instinctively. "Leo... we had a deal. You were supposed to meet the team at the docks."
Leo didn't lower the weapon. He took three deliberate steps forward, his boots crunching over broken glass. "My brother rules New York, Marcus. You were just the errand boy hired to clean the vault."
Vivienne stepped back, her crimson gown rustling against the floor, her cold composure finally breaking as she looked between the two Bellacorte brothers.
Dominic raised a single gloved hand toward Leo. "Lower the gun, Leo."
"He tried to sell your territories to the Chicago Commission, Dominic," Leo said, his voice deep and raspy from years of exile. "He paid off six of your capos."
"I said lower the gun," Dominic repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We take them alive."
Leo hesitated for a fraction of a second, then clicked the safety back on and slid the weapon into his coat holster.
Dominic turned toward his head of security, Mateo, who stood near the doors with six armed operatives. "Lock Marcus and Vivienne in the lower holding cells. Strip their phones, their jewelry, and their clearance cards. Nobody enters that room without my authorization."
"Dominic, you can't do this!" Vivienne snapped as two guards grabbed her arms. "I am a Vale! My family controls the shipping terminals!"
"Your family controls whatever I allow them to control," Dominic replied softly, without even looking at her.
The guards dragged Marcus and Vivienne out through the side doors. The remaining guests in the banquet hall stood in terrified silence, waiting for their Don's verdict.
Dominic turned to the crowd, his voice booming across the marble hall. "The party is over. Return to your territories. The Bellacorte family remains undivided."
Within ten minutes, the banquet hall was cleared. Dominic walked into his private ground-floor study, closing the heavy oak doors behind him. Leo followed, leaning against the edge of the mahogany desk.
Dominic poured two glasses of scotch, handing one to his younger brother.
"Five years, Leo," Dominic said, staring into his brother's eyes. "We buried an empty coffin in Westchester."
"I had to stay dead, Dominic," Leo said, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "The boat explosion wasn't an accident. Marcus planted the C4 on my yacht five years ago because I found out he was leaking internal banking codes to Moretti."
Dominic’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. "Why didn't you come to me five years ago?"
"Because Marcus wasn't working alone," Leo revealed, leaning closer. "He had someone inside your inner circle protecting him—someone who intercepted every report I tried to send you."
Dominic set his glass down on the desk with a heavy thump. "Who?"
"I don't have the name yet," Leo said. "But Marcus kept an encrypted silver keycard in his jacket lining. It opens a private safety deposit vault at the Federal Reserve Bank in Manhattan."
Dominic reached into his suit pocket. During the brawl at the table, he had pulled Marcus's leather wallet from his charcoal jacket. He flipped the leather open and pulled out a sleek silver keycard stamped with a custom serial number: 7704-B.
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Dominic held the card under his desk lamp.
The custom serial number didn't belong to Marcus Vale. The registration code at the bottom was registered under the biometric name of Carmine Bellacorte—Dominic and Leo’s father, who had died thirty years ago.
