Chapter 8 – THE DINING ROOM TABLE WHERE TRUTH LIVES

The silence in the room was thicker than blood.

Vincent’s uncle slowly folded his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Vincent,” he said calmly. “You aren’t thinking straight.”

“I’m thinking clearer than I have in my entire life,” Vincent stood up, shrugging off my hands. He walked toward his uncle, ignoring his bleeding shoulder. “My mother poisoned Margaret, yes. But she didn’t kill my father. She loved him too much. You killed him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because my father was going to take the family legitimate,” Vincent said. “He was going to sell the rackets. And you couldn’t stand losing the street power.”

Vincent turned to Camille. “Call your guards in.”

Camille pressed a button on her phone. Four heavily armed men stepped into the foyer. They weren’t Russo men. They were from Camille’s family.

The uncle looked at the weapons trained on him. He let out a dark, bitter laugh.

“He was weak, Vincent,” the uncle sneered. “He was going to throw away everything our grandfather built for some waitress. I did what had to be done.”

Vincent nodded slowly. “Take him away.”

As the guards dragged his uncle out the front door, the heavy weight of the night finally settled.

The monsters were gone.

Vincent turned to me. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were kind.

“Tessa,” he said softly. “You and your brother will never have to worry about money again. Your father’s debt is erased. Your brother’s tuition is paid for life. And you are done cleaning this house.”

Tears spilled over my cheeks. I nodded, unable to speak.

Camille walked over and gently hugged me. It was real this time.

Then, Camille went outside and carried little Leo into the house. The boy rubbed his eyes, looking around the grand foyer.

Vincent knelt down in front of the child. The boy shrank back slightly.

“Hey,” Vincent said, his voice incredibly gentle. “You don’t have to be afraid here anymore. This is your home.”

Leo looked at his mother. Camille nodded, crying softly.

Vincent stood and walked into the dining room. The room where everything had exploded just hours ago. He looked at the table, then at Camille, and then at the empty space where his mother’s walker used to sit.

“We start over tomorrow,” Vincent said.

For the first time in my life, I felt completely safe. My brother was alive, my mother’s truth was known, and Camille finally had her son back. It was over.

Until I went upstairs to pack my bags.

I opened the closet in my small maid’s room to grab my duffel bag.

Sitting on the top shelf, pushed all the way to the back, was a heavy gold watch.

I pulled it down. It was a man’s watch. Engraved on the back were the initials V.R. Sr.

Vincent’s dead father’s watch.

And wrapped around it was a fresh, handwritten note.

“They don’t know the whole story, Tessa.”

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