Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Study
Within ten minutes, the two hundred wedding guests were escorted off the estate grounds by heavily armed Santoro guards. The heavy iron gates at the harbor entrance were padlocked, and guards were posted along the gray-stone perimeter wall.
Inside Victor’s private, dark-paneled study, the air was suffocatingly thick. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out the ocean storm, while a single green banker's lamp illuminated the massive mahogany desk.
Celestine sat comfortably in a leather armchair opposite the desk, sipping a glass of vintage scotch as if she were hosting a dinner party. Her white wedding dress was slightly rumpled, but her demeanor was that of an undisputed victor.
Victor stood by the high glass windows, his tuxedo jacket discarded, his crisp black dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing his broad, battle-hardened neck. He held the silver locket in his palm, staring at the photograph of the mother he had grieved for four decades.
The heavy double oak doors opened, and Frank ushered Beatrice into the room. The elderly woman moved slowly, her physical frailty evident, but her eyes held a fierce, stubborn light.
"Leave us, Frank," Victor commanded flatly.
Frank nodded and stepped out, closing the heavy doors behind him.
Victor walked over to his aunt, gently helping her sit on the velvet sofa. He dropped to one knee before her, taking her small, frail hands into his massive palms.
"Tell me the truth, Aunt Beatrice," Victor begged softly, his rugged face tight with emotion. "Is my mother alive?"
Beatrice looked into Victor’s dark eyes, tears spilling over her fair, rosy cheeks. "Victor... your father did what he had to do to keep you alive. Forty years ago, when the Vale syndicate tried to wipe out our bloodline, Eleanor was critically injured. Your father knew that if the rival families found out she survived, they would use her to force him to surrender the harbor terminals."
"So he faked her death?" Victor asked, his voice shaking.
"He hid her in a private medical facility under a false identity," Beatrice wept. "Only your father and I knew. After your father passed away, I maintained the payments to keep her safe... waiting until you were powerful enough to protect her!"
Celestine let out a sharp, cold laugh from her armchair. "What a touching story, Aunt Beatrice. But you forgot the most important part."
Celestine set her scotch glass down with a loud click. "Eleanor isn't just sitting in a sanctuary, Victor. She holds the master bloodline deed to fifty-one percent of the Santoro shipping lines. Under your father's original charter, as long as Eleanor is alive, you are not the legal Don. You are merely a trustee."
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Victor stood up slowly to his full height, his broad frame looming over the desk. "And your father wants that deed."
"My father already has the location," Celestine purred, her eyes sparkling with malicious triumph. "Marry me tonight, surrender fifty percent of the harbor rights to the Vale syndicate, and my father hands Eleanor over to you alive. Refuse... and she disappears forever."
