Chapter 6 - A brother's treason
Vincent left Celeste locked in the library. He needed a weak link, and he knew exactly where to find it.
Arthur Belladonna was pacing nervously in his private suite in the east wing. As Vincent’s older brother, Arthur should have been the boss of the family, but he lacked the ruthless edge, the cold composure, the sheer magnetism required to rule. He was a soft man, easily manipulated, entirely under the thumb of his beautiful, cunning wife.
Vincent kicked the door open. It slammed loudly against the wall.
Arthur jumped, dropping the glass of bourbon he was holding. The liquid soaked into the carpet. He looked at Vincent with wide, terrified eyes. His fair skin was pale, sweat dotting his forehead.
“Vincent,” Arthur stammered, raising his hands defensively. “I didn’t know she was going to do that at the party. I swear to you, I told her to leave Eleanor alone.”
Vincent closed the door quietly behind him. He walked over to the bar, picked up a fresh glass, poured a measure of bourbon, and handed it to his trembling brother.
“Drink,” Vincent commanded softly.
Arthur took it, his teeth chattering against the glass.
“Celeste found something at the Hamptons house,” Vincent said, watching his brother’s eyes dart toward the floor. “A lockbox. Journals. Medical files.”
Arthur let out a pathetic sob. “She wasn’t supposed to look there. We were just there to clear out the old furniture for the renovation.”
“Who else knows about the documents, Arthur?”
“No one!” Arthur pleaded. “Just Celeste and her lawyer, Harrington. She put them in a safety deposit box. She’s planning to blackmail you, Vincent. She wants fifty percent of the territory and full control of the ports. If you don’t give it to her, she’s going to expose our mother.”
Vincent stepped closer, his physical presence suffocating in the luxurious room. “And you went along with this? You were going to let your wife destroy our mother to get a piece of the docks?”
“I can’t control her, Vincent!” Arthur cried, tears spilling over his flushed cheeks. “You know I can’t! She hates Eleanor. She hates that you treat Eleanor like a queen while she gets treated like a second-class citizen just because I’m not the boss.”
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Vincent reached out and gripped the back of Arthur’s neck, squeezing just hard enough to make his brother whimper. No blood, no graphic violence, just pure, dominating terror.
“Give me Harrington’s address,” Vincent whispered. “Now.”
