Chapter 8 – The Ghost of the Family

Vincent Moretti was supposed to be in a federal penitentiary.

He was the ghost of the family, the uncle who had been locked away for racketeering ten years ago.

Yet here he stood, impeccably dressed, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips.

“Hello, boys,” Vincent said smoothly.

Arthur’s men lowered their weapons, parting respectfully to let the older man pass.

“Vincent,” Arthur nodded, stepping aside. “You’re early.”

Luca’s eyes darted between his uncle and Arthur Bellini. The betrayal etched itself into the deep lines of his face.

“You,” Luca breathed, the realization hitting him. “You orchestrated this. Not Arthur.”

Vincent adjusted his silk cuffs. “Arthur is a capable businessman, Luca. But he lacks vision. He thought he could just marry his daughter into our empire. I taught him that true control requires… restructuring.”

Michael stepped in front of me and my mother. “You kidnapped your own great-nephew? You told Luca his son was dead?”

“It was necessary,” Vincent said without a hint of remorse. “Luca was growing soft. He wanted to legitimize the business. Open more restaurants. Donate to charities. He was ruining our legacy.”

Vincent looked down at Leo, who was hiding behind Luca’s legs.

“The boy was a distraction. I simply removed him. I intended for Arthur’s idiot daughter to dispose of him properly, but she panicked and gave him to a maid.”

Vanessa flinched at the word idiot, staring at the floor.

“You’re a monster,” my mother whispered, clutching my hand.

Vincent ignored her. He looked at Luca.

“Sign the transfer papers, Luca. Hand the family assets to me. In exchange, I will let the boy and the maids live. They can disappear to Europe. But you and Michael… you have reached the end of your run.”

Luca stood tall, ignoring the blood dripping from his shoulder.

“I will never sign my father’s legacy over to a traitor,” Luca said.

Vincent sighed dramatically. “I warned you, Arthur. He’s stubborn.”

Vincent snapped his fingers.

The three armed men raised their guns again, pointing them directly at Leo and my mother.

“Sign,” Vincent commanded. “Or the boy dies right here. In front of you.”

Luca’s fierce resolve finally cracked.

He looked at Leo, then at his brother.

“Okay,” Luca whispered, his voice broken. “Okay, Vincent. I’ll sign.”

Vincent smiled, pulling a folded document and a gold fountain pen from his breast pocket. He held them out.

Luca took a slow step forward. He reached for the pen.

But suddenly, Vanessa stepped between them.

“No,” Vanessa said softly.

Vincent frowned. “Move, Vanessa.”

Vanessa looked at her father. “You promised me no one would die, Dad. You promised me if I lied to Luca, if I helped you get the company, we would just send them away.”

“Shut your mouth and step aside!” Arthur barked, raising his cane.

But Vanessa didn’t move.

She turned to Luca, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry, Luca. I loved you. I really did.”

Before anyone could react, Vanessa reached into her heavy coat pocket.

She didn’t pull out a gun.

She pulled out a small, blinking black device.

An audio recorder.

“I’ve been recording everything,” Vanessa said, her voice shaking but defiant. “Every meeting with my father. Every threat from Vincent. I sent the files to Carlo Vitale five minutes ago.”

Vincent’s face contorted in rage. “You stupid bitch!”

He lunged for her.

And in that split second of chaos, Carlo Vitale stepped out of the darkness behind the guest house.

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