Chapter 8 - the viper in the house
Rico led the way down the dimly lit corridor of the east wing, the silver key held firmly in his right hand. Clara followed closely behind, carrying Leo, who refused to let go of her pink dress.
They reached the heavy double oak doors. Rico inserted the silver key into the iron padlock. With a heavy, metallic click, the lock gave way, and the heavy doors creaked open.
The room smelled of faded lavender, cold marble, and expensive oil paints. It was Elena’s private art studio.
Large canvases were stacked against the walls, covered in dusty white sheets. In the center of the room stood an easel holding an unfinished portrait of a young woman with soft brown hair and a striking silver locket around her neck—a portrait of Clara.
Clara gasped, pulling Leo closer. "She... she was painting me?"
"Elena knew about you for six months before she died," Rico said softly, walking around the easel. "She spent weeks trying to find a way to contact you without alerting her family. She knew the Vance estate was corrupt."
Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in the corner of the room.
Rico drew a sleek black pistol from his waistband in a flash, aiming it directly into the shadows behind a tall mahogany wardrobe. "Step out. Now."
Slowly, hands raised, Bianca stepped out from the darkness. She was no longer wearing her elegant smile; her face was pale, her dark eyes filled with desperate rage.
"Put the gun down, Rico," Bianca sneered, though her voice shook slightly. "You can't prove anything."
"You were looking for this, weren't you?" Rico said, reaching into the open top drawer of Elena's desk and pulling out a small leather-bound ledger. "Elena’s private journal. The one where she documented every single dollar you stole from the family trust."
Bianca’s breath hitched. "She was going to ruin me! She was going to tell the syndicate council that I was transferring money to Manhattan offshore accounts!"
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"So you cut her brake lines," Rico said, his voice dropping to an absolute zero that chilled the entire room. "You murdered my wife. You let my son believe he was alone in the world."
"She deserved it!" Bianca shrieked, dropping her hands. "She was weak! And now you bring this cheap waitress into our home because she has the same pathetic bloodline?"
