Chapter 9 - The warming hearth
The storm outside finally broke just before dawn. The cinematic morning light poured through the shattered windows of the estate, illuminating the destruction, but also the peace that had finally settled over the house. Vincent’s men had arrived in full force, securing the perimeter, cleaning the glass, and removing the unconscious Moretti soldiers.
Vincent sat on the edge of the leather sofa in the living room. His ruined black shirt was replaced by a thick, comfortable grey sweater. He held a cup of black coffee, watching the fire crackle in the hearth.
Noelle was asleep on the other end of the sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket, completely exhausted by the night's events.
Julian sat in a high-backed armchair near the fire. He was no longer wearing the stiff, miniature suit jacket. He wore only his white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up exactly like Vincent’s. He was holding the silver pocket watch, staring at it intently.
Vincent set his coffee down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. How long did you know? Vincent asked quietly, not wanting to wake Noelle.
Julian didn't look up from the watch. I suspected for two years. Celeste’s stories about my abandonment contained logical inconsistencies. Furthermore, I found medical records in her safe during one of our weekend lessons. I knew I had a twin sister. I knew my father was Vincent Caruso.
Then why did you play along? Why didn't you try to run?
Because running is a tactical error when you are vastly outmatched, Julian replied, finally looking up. His dark eyes met Vincent’s. I waited. I learned everything she was willing to teach me about the syndicate, about finances, about strategy. I absorbed her resources. I knew that eventually, she would bring me to you. And when she did, I would make my choice.
Vincent smiled, a genuine, warm smile that softened his rugged face. And you chose your family.
Family is the only logical foundation for a lasting empire, Julian stated matter-of-factly. Though, I admit, the emotional component is... unexpected. When Noelle touched my arm, my heart rate elevated. It was a new variable.
Vincent chuckled softly, standing up and walking over to his son. He knelt beside the chair and placed a massive, warm hand on the boy’s shoulder. You don't have to be a soldier anymore, Julian. You don't have to calculate every variable. You get to be an eight-year-old boy. You get to play in the snow with your sister. You get to be my son.
Julian looked at Vincent’s hand on his shoulder. He slowly reached up and placed his small hand over his father’s. I would like that. But I also want to learn how you disarmed that guard with the rifle. The biomechanics were highly efficient.
Vincent threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed through the warm room. I'll teach you. I'll teach you everything.
The morning sun continued to rise, casting a bright, beautiful light over the snow-covered estate. The nightmare was over. The family was finally whole. Vincent had lost his wife, and he had lost eight years with his son, but he had won them back from the edge of destruction.
Later that afternoon, Vincent stood by the repaired glass doors of the courtyard, watching Noelle and Julian in the snow. Noelle was laughing, throwing a snowball at her brother. Julian stood stiffly for a moment, analyzing the trajectory of the snowball, before awkwardly bending down, packing his own snowball, and gently tossing it back. He didn't know how to play, but he was learning.
Miller stepped up beside Vincent, holding a secure tablet. Boss. The Morettis are on a flight back to Italy. Celeste is with them. Her accounts have been completely drained by our hackers. She has nothing.
Good, Vincent said, not taking his eyes off his children.
But there's one more thing, Miller hesitated, tapping the screen of the tablet. While we were draining her accounts, we found a heavily encrypted file on her private server. It took the tech guys all night to break it.
What is it? Vincent asked, his protective instincts instantly flaring.
May you like
Miller handed the tablet to Vincent. It’s a communication log. Celeste wasn't just paying the Morettis. She was sending updates about Julian’s progress to someone else. Someone inside our own commission.
Vincent looked at the screen. The file was a series of messages, reporting on Julian’s intelligence, his lack of empathy, and his readiness to rule. The final message from the unknown recipient sent a chill down Vincent’s spine.
