As if this betrayal was not news to her.
Another voice joined Marcus in the bedroom.
“Maybe he changed his plans.
The old man’s getting paranoid in his age.”
“No,” Marcus replied, his tone sharp with the authority Vincent had taught him.
“He’s coming.
Tony confirmed he left the warehouse an hour ago.
Vincent never deviates from his routine.”
Through the crack, Vincent saw Marcus’s silhouette move to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains to peer into the night.
The same window where Vincent had stood countless times, surveying his domain, believing it was impenetrable.
Elena shifted slightly, and Vincent noticed something that made his pulse quicken.
She was armed.
A small pistol pressed against her hip, concealed beneath her simple black dress.
The maid who had served him coffee every morning for 3 years was carrying a weapon in his own home.
“The safe’s clean,” a 3rd voice called from across the room.
“Nothing but cash and some jewelry.”
Marcus laughed, a sound that held no warmth.
“He keeps the real secrets somewhere else.
We need him alive long enough to tell us where.”
Vincent’s hands clenched into fists.
The empire he had built, the legacy he had protected, was being dissected by his own blood.
But the deeper horror was realizing how long this had been planned.
How many conversations had Marcus overheard?
How many family dinners had been reconnaissance missions?
Elena pressed her lips close to his ear.
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