Chapter 6 - Ghosts of the BloodlineThe private study of the Valente ancestral mansion smelled of old leather, expensive cigar smoke, and centuries of inherited sin. The portraits of past dons hung along the dark wood-paneled walls, their painted eyes seeming to judge the living from the shadows.
Nico sat behind the heavy mahogany desk, the manila folder opened before him. Beside him, Bruno paced restlessly across the Persian rug, his claws clicking against the floor like a ticking clock. Tommy stood near the locked double doors, his hand resting casually inside his jacket.
The heavy oak doors creaked open. Stepping into the room was Arthur Pendelton, the Chief of Police, flanked by two armed detectives, and District Attorney Marcus Vance, adjusting his silk tie with a nervous, arrogant smile.
"Nico, what is the meaning of this late-night summons?" Marcus Vance said, stepping forward as if he still owned the room. "My office is handling a major corruption sweep, and I don't have time for family parlor games, even if you are the head of the Valente syndicate."
Nico didn't look up from the papers. He slowly closed the folder and interlaced his fingers on the desk.
"Sit down, Marcus," Nico said, his voice dangerously low.
Vance exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Chief Pendelton before pulling out a chair and sitting down. Pendelton remained standing by the door, resting his hand on his service weapon.
"You've been making a lot of noise lately, Nico," Pendelton said, his voice laced with false camaraderie. "Dismantling Victor Hail’s operation, auditing medical fronts. People are starting to talk. They’re saying the young boss is losing his grip. Cleaning up our streets is our job, not yours."
"Is it?" Nico asked quietly. He picked up a single sheet of paper from the desk and slid it across the polished wood toward the District Attorney. "Tell me, Marcus, how much does it cost to look the other way while a municipal hospital trust systematically starves out the working-class districts?"
Vance glanced down at the paper, and all the color instantly drained from his face. It was a certified bank transfer record from an offshore account registered under a dummy corporation—funded by Valente shell companies and deposited directly into a Swiss account bearing Vance’s personal signature.
"This... this is a forgery," Vance stammered, his voice cracking. "Anyone can print out a fake bank statement—"
"Quiet," Nico commanded, the single word cutting through the room like a razor blade.
Nico stood up slowly, towering over the desk. "For twenty years, I believed my father’s lies. I believed that everything we did, we did for family, for survival, for power. But reading these files tonight, I found something even more interesting. A memo dated seven years ago. Signed by Victor Hail, approved by Marcus Vance, backed by Arthur Pendelton... and countersigned by Franco Valente."
Nico stepped around the desk, stopping just inches from the District Attorney.
"You didn't just shut down the clinics to make a profit," Nico whispered, his eyes burning with cold fury. "You used my mother’s death certificate as collateral to secure the initial zoning permits for the downtown hospital monopoly. You used my family's name as a shield for your systematic slaughter of innocent people."
Chief Pendelton’s hand instantly flashed toward his holster, drawing his pistol in a lightning-fast motion aimed straight at Nico’s chest.
"It’s over, Valente," Pendelton sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You think you can play reformer? You’re a criminal. When we leak these files to the federal prosecutor, you'll take the fall for everything. The whole damn empire goes down with you."
Before Pendelton could finish his sentence, a massive, dark blur launched across the room.
Bruno—who had been lying silently in the corner—exploded into action. With a terrifying, guttural roar, the hundred-and-thirty-pound mastiff slammed into Pendelton like a freight train, knocking the Chief of Police backward against the mahogany bookshelf with a sickening crunch of breaking glass and bone. The pistol flew from Pendelton's hand, clattering across the floor.
Tommy Ricci’s gun was already drawn, locked dead on Marcus Vance’s forehead before the District Attorney could even blink.
May you like
"Pick up the phone, Marcus," Nico said, his voice steady as he stepped over the groaning Chief of Police. "Call the Attorney General’s office. Confess to every single charge, every kickback, every fraudulent death certificate. Because if you don't..."
Nico leaned down, his eyes locking onto Vance's terrified pupils. "...Bruno hasn't eaten dinner yet."
