Chapter 2 - The Serpent in the HouseThe silence in the Rinaldi library grew suffocating. The golden autumn sunlight suddenly felt cold, casting long, menacing shadows across the marble floor.
Dean swallowed hard, though his smile remained rigidly in place. "Massimo... you're gripping my wrist pretty tight for a guy who can't stand. And you're looking at me like I'm an enemy. What is wrong with you? It's just a stray pill. Kids pick up trash all the time."
"Is it trash, Dean?" Massimo’s voice dropped to a lethal murmur. He didn't release his grip. Instead, he pulled Dean closer, forcing the other man to look directly into his eyes. "Dr. Hale comes here twice a week to check my spine. My spine, Dean. Not my heart. So why does he carry heart medication? And why did you panic the exact second you saw it?"
Camille stepped forward, her face pale beneath her expensive makeup. "Massimo, darling, you're letting a toddler's game make you paranoid. The stress of the upcoming wedding is getting to you. Dean took two bullets for you! He almost died on Brooklyn Avenue! How can you even imply—"
"Shut up, Camille," Massimo barked, the sheer authority in his tone causing her to stumble back. He turned his gaze back to Dean. "Twelve years, Dean. Twelve years you've stood at my right hand. I trusted you with my accounts, my safehouses, my life. But right now, your pulse is racing at a hundred and forty beats per minute. You're sweating. You're terrified."
Dean’s eyes flicked toward the door, where two armed guards stood outside in the corridor. For a split second, a dark, calculating glint replaced the friendly demeanor.
"You're right," Dean whispered coldly, his voice losing its warm facade. He twisted his wrist with sudden, explosive force, breaking out of Massimo’s grip. He stepped back, rubbing his arm and sneering. "I am sweating. Not because I'm scared of you, Massimo, but because I'm so damn tired of playing nursemaid to a cripple."
Across the room, Carla gasped, pulling little Nina tightly behind her skirts.
"You arrogant bastard," Dean continued, pacing the length of the library. "You think you built the Rinaldi empire? You inherited it! You got soft. You sat in your high chair and gave orders while men like me did the real bleeding. Six months ago on Brooklyn Avenue? That wasn't an enemy hit. That was me."
The words hung in the air like poison gas.
Camille gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Dean... what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I planned the ambush," Dean laughed, a dark, unhinged sound. "I hired the hit squad. I paid the shooters. And the best part? I threw myself across the seat just in time to take two flesh wounds so you would spend the rest of your life kissing my feet and thanking me for saving you."
Massimo didn't yell. He didn't curse. He sat entirely still in his wheelchair, his face turning into a mask of pure, unadulterated ice. "And the paralysis?" Massimo asked quietly. "The bullets didn't paralyze me. What did?"
Dean grinned wickedly. "Dr. Hale, of course. Every time he gave you your 'recovery injections,' he was actually pumping your spine and bloodstream with a proprietary neurotoxin. Slow-acting. Paralyzing. And combined with those daily pills you just found? It was supposed to stop your heart quietly right before the wedding. A tragic medical complication. Clean. No suspicion."
"And Camille?" Massimo’s gray eyes shifted to his fiancée. "Did she know?"
Camille lowered her gaze, her silence serving as a damning confession. "We're going to run the family, Massimo," she whispered defensively. "You were finished anyway. You belonged in the past."
"You fools," Massimo whispered.
May you like
Before Dean could draw the hidden pistol from his waistband, the heavy mahogany doors of the library slammed open. A dozen heavily armed men in black tactical gear swarmed the room, led by Rocco, Massimo’s fiercely loyal enforcer who had been quietly investigating discrepancies in the family accounts for weeks.
Rocco’s rifle was leveled squarely at Dean’s chest. "Drop the weapon, Dean. The game is over."
