Chapter 4 - the housekeeper's confession
Victor Vane was fifty-eight years old, impeccably dressed in a dark charcoal three-piece suit, a silk tie, and a gold luxury watch. He carried an aura of supreme, aristocratic arrogance, resting his hands on a silver-headed walking cane.
"Damiano," Victor said smoothly, his raspy voice echoing through the study. "Your security guards dragged me out of my private quarters at midnight. What is the meaning of this emergency lockdown?"
Damiano did not stand up. He sat motionless behind his desk, holding three-week-old Marisol against his broad chest, his dark wavy hair falling over his shoulders.
Victor’s eyes drifted toward the baby in Damiano’s arms, then toward Elina sitting in the velvet chair. A fraction of a second of intense, calculating shock flashed across Victor’s face before he recovered his calm smile.
"I see you've found a stray infant, Damiano," Victor remarked dryly. "Are we pausing syndicate operations to discuss domestic staff matters?"
Damiano reached out with his right hand and turned his laptop screen toward Victor.
Displayed on the high-definition monitor were the wire transfer records from Vanguard Holdings, showing sixty million dollars funneled directly into Victor’s private accounts in Zurich.
Victor’s smile vanished instantly. The color drained from his face, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his silver cane.
"Where did you get those files?" Victor demanded, his voice losing its polished composure.
"Julian left them for me, Victor," Damiano said, his deep baritone carrying an absolute, terrifying weight. "Inside the silver pendant he gave to Sofia Carter before you had his car tampered with."
Victor backed away a step, his eyes darting toward Marco standing by the door. "This is a fabrication! Julian was embezzling money himself! He forged those documents to frame me!"
Elina stood up from her chair, her dark eyes flashing with fierce, tearful rage. "You lied to my sister! You told her if she didn't surrender Julian's private ledger, you would make sure her baby was born in a prison!"
"Shut your mouth, servant!" Victor snapped, raising his cane threatingly toward Elina.
Before Victor’s cane could move an inch, Damiano was out of his chair.
Holding baby Marisol securely against his chest with his left arm, Damiano cleared the distance between them in two blinding strides. He grabbed Victor by his throat with his massive right hand, slamming the fifty-eight-year-old executive violently against the oak bookshelf.
Books clattered to the floor around them.
Victor gasped for air, his face turning red, his hands clawing uselessly at Damiano’s iron grip.
"You speak to her like that again in my house," Damiano growled in a low, terrifying whisper that sent a wave of absolute horror through Victor’s soul, "and I will tear your tongue from your throat."
Damiano tightened his grip slightly, looking down into Victor’s panicked eyes.
"You murdered my brother," Damiano whispered coldly. "You hunted his pregnant wife. And you tried to steal my niece's birthright."
Damiano released his grip, letting Victor collapse onto the carpet, coughing heavily as he clutched his throat.
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"Marco," Damiano ordered without looking back. "Strip him of his weapons. Lock him in the sub-basement holding cell until the syndicate council arrives tomorrow morning."
Marco stepped forward, disarming Victor’s two guards in seconds, while two additional Rossi enforcers dragged the weeping, desperate executive out of the study.
