Chapter 17 - The Shadow of the Past
The peace we had fought so hard to secure was tested one crisp autumn afternoon when an unexpected visitor arrived at the estate gates.
Marcus escorted an elderly, frail-looking man into the conservatory. It was Arthur Vance—our estranged uncle who had vanished from our lives after our parents passed away, leaving my deaf brother Leo and me to fend for ourselves.
Arthur looked around the sprawling manor, his eyes wide with nervous greed. “Tessa, my dear! I saw your face in the financial papers. I always knew you had greatness in you. And this estate... good lord, you've done well for yourself.”
I stared at him, my blood running cold. Four years of struggling to pay rent, four years of working double shifts while he lived comfortably in Florida, and now he appeared out of nowhere like a vulture smelling gold.
“What do you want, Uncle Arthur?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave into an icy, protective tone.
“Now, is that any way to talk to family?” Arthur scoffed, stepping closer. “I hear you’re running millions in non-profit funds with some dangerous mobster character. I’m just here to make sure you aren't being exploited. For a small advisory fee, of course, I can help you manage—”
Before Arthur could finish his sentence, the heavy mahogany doors swung open.
Salvatore stepped into the room. He didn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in temperature was absolute. He walked slowly toward Arthur, towering over the old man like a dark specter of judgment.
Arthur shrank back, his face turning pale as he recognized the scarred face of Chicago’s most feared man.
Salvatore didn't hit him. He didn't even touch him. He simply raised his hands, his fingers slicing through the silence with chilling finality.
You abandoned two children to poverty when they had no one, Salvatore signed, his eyes flashing with deadly intent. You walked away from your own blood.
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You have exactly sixty seconds to leave this estate before my security team throws you into the Chicago River.
Arthur didn't wait for a countdown. He turned and bolted out the doors, his footsteps echoing down the marble hallway in a frantic scramble of pure terror.
