Chapter 3 - The Son of a Lie
The gunshot shattered one of the conservatory windows.
Vincent moved before Marcus understood what was happening.
He slammed into his nephew, knocking him sideways as the bullet tore through the shoulder of Marcus's coat instead of his chest.
Marcus hit the floor.
Elena fired once toward the ceiling fixture.
Glass burst.
The room plunged into darkness.
Celeste screamed.
One of Tony's men cursed.
Vincent grabbed Marcus by the collar and dragged him behind a stone planter while Elena rushed toward the doorway.
"Celeste, down!" Elena shouted.
A second gunshot cracked through the room.
Then came the unmistakable clang of metal against bone.
"That's for pointing a gun at my granddaughter!" Teresa Russo yelled from the hallway.
Even Vincent turned his head.
Teresa stood in the doorway holding the same cast-iron skillet she had refused to put down in the kitchen.
One of Tony's men was on his knees, clutching the side of his head.
Celeste tore free.
Elena pulled the girl behind the doorframe.
Tony backed into the hallway.
His expression was no longer amused.
"This isn't over, Vince."
Vincent rose from behind the planter.
"For you, it is."
Tony smiled once.
Then he disappeared into the dark corridor.
The second armed man followed him.
Elena started after them.
"No," Vincent said.
She turned.
"He'll get away."
"Marcus is bleeding."
Elena looked down.
Only then did she see the dark stain spreading across Marcus's upper arm.
The bullet had grazed him deeply enough to tear flesh but had missed bone.
Marcus pressed his hand against the wound and stared at Vincent.
"You saved me."
Vincent crouched beside him.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I came here to kill you."
"Yes. Your manners need work."
Marcus looked away.
Teresa hurried Celeste toward them.
The girl threw both arms around her grandmother.
Teresa dropped the skillet and held her.
For several seconds, the old woman who had joked through danger said nothing at all.
Then she kissed Celeste's forehead and whispered, "You're all right. You're all right."
Vincent looked toward the hallway where Tony had vanished.
"How many men are still loyal to him?"
Marcus's breathing was shallow.
"Five, maybe six. He had more outside."
"Police?"
Marcus nodded.
"Hale has four officers waiting near the south gate. They're supposed to enter at eleven thirty."
Elena checked the time.
10:07 p.m.
"Why?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Tony was going to stage a raid."
Vincent's face hardened.
"On my house."
"He said Hale could make it look legitimate. Guns. Cash. Documents. Enough to put you away if you survived."
"And I wasn't supposed to survive."
Marcus did not answer.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"Say it."
Marcus looked at him.
"No."
"Say it."
"You were supposed to be shot while trying to escape."
Celeste covered her mouth.
Teresa muttered something in Italian that Elena suspected was not a prayer.
Vincent stood.
"And the ledger?"
"Tony wanted it before Hale came inside."
"Why?"
"Because Tony said it had proof that could destroy everyone."
"It does."
Marcus stared at him.
"Then he was telling the truth about that."
"A liar doesn't survive twenty-eight years by lying about everything."
Elena looked toward Vincent.
"We have less than ninety minutes."
"Less," Marcus said.
Everyone turned.
He looked ashamed.
"Tony has a second plan."
Vincent's voice became quiet.
"Of course he does."
"If the raid fails, he's going to burn the mansion."
Teresa's face went white.
"My kitchen."
Vincent looked at her.
She glared back.
"There are also people inside, but yes, my kitchen."
Marcus continued.
"He already has accelerants in the maintenance garage. He said the fire would erase whatever Hale couldn't explain."
Elena crouched beside Marcus.
"What does he think is in the ledger besides names?"
"Transfers. Payments. Records from the old construction companies. Something about my father."
Vincent glanced at Elena.
"That's why he needs it."
Marcus frowned.
"Why?"
Vincent answered without taking his eyes off Elena.
"Because the ledger proves Tony was moving money before Alessandro died. It proves your father found him."
Marcus's face twisted.
"You knew?"
"Not then."
"But you know now."
"I know because Rafael left evidence."
Marcus looked at Elena.
Something painful passed between them.
"Your father tried to tell me the truth."
"He tried to tell all of us."
"And Tony killed him."
Elena's expression remained steady, but her eyes changed.
"Yes."
Marcus looked down at the blood on his hand.
"I helped the man who killed both our fathers."
Elena did not comfort him.
"Yes."
The honesty cut deeper than accusation.
Vincent removed his jacket and wrapped it tightly around Marcus's arm.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so."
"Then stand up."
Marcus tried.
His knees nearly buckled.
Vincent caught him.
For a second, uncle and nephew stared at each other from inches away.
Marcus whispered, "Why are you still helping me?"
Vincent's voice was low.
"Because your father asked me to protect you."
"After what I did?"
"He didn't add conditions."
Marcus looked as though he wanted to say something else.
He could not.
Elena broke the moment.
"We need to get everyone out of the house."
Vincent nodded.
"Teresa, take Celeste through the greenhouse. Use the old gardener's gate."
"And you?"
"I'm staying."
Elena shook her head immediately.
"No."
Vincent turned.
"This is my house."
"Which makes it a terrible place for you to die."
Teresa pointed at Elena.
"Listen to her. She's been right all night."
Vincent looked offended.
"You have worked for me thirty-two years."
"And I've spent thirty-two years telling you when you're being an idiot."
Marcus actually laughed, then winced from the pain.
The sound pulled an old memory into Vincent's mind without permission. Marcus at nine years old, sitting at the enormous breakfast table with a missing front tooth, laughing so hard at a joke Alessandro had told that milk came out of his nose. Alessandro had nearly fallen out of his chair. Vincent had pretended to be disgusted, then spent the rest of the morning hiding a smile.
That had been before the funeral.
Before Marcus learned that every adult conversation stopped when he entered a room. Before men began touching his shoulder and telling him to be strong. Before Tony became the patient uncle who answered the questions Vincent avoided.
Vincent looked at the wounded man in front of him and finally saw the cost of all those silences.
"When did Tony first tell you I killed your father?" Vincent asked.
Marcus's brief smile disappeared.
"He didn't. Not at first."
"Then how?"
"Questions."
Vincent frowned.
Marcus stared at the floor.
"When I was sixteen, he asked whether you had ever explained why Dad changed his route that morning. When I was eighteen, he showed me a newspaper clipping about the bombing and asked why your car wasn't there. At twenty-one, he let me see one of the fake transfer records. He never said, 'Vincent killed your father.' He waited for me to say it."
Elena felt a chill.
Tony had not planted one lie.
He had cultivated a conclusion.
Marcus continued. "Every time I got angry with you, he gave me another piece. Every time you refused to answer something, he told me that powerful men hide the ugliest truths from the people they claim to protect."
Vincent's face tightened.
"And he was right about that part," Marcus added.
The accusation was quiet.
It hurt more because Vincent could not deny it.
"Yes," he said.
Marcus looked up, surprised by the admission.
Vincent continued, "I thought keeping you away from the details would keep you away from the life. Instead I left the empty spaces for Tony to fill."
Marcus swallowed.
"I wanted you to tell me Dad mattered."
"He mattered every day."
"You never said it."
Vincent looked at him.
"Then I failed you long before tonight."
Marcus's eyes filled again. He blinked hard and looked away.
Elena said nothing. She understood too well what happened when children inherited silence and tried to turn it into an explanation.
Vincent stared at him.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"A little."
It was the first human sound Marcus had made since hearing his father's voice.
Elena checked the hallway.
"We can save the house later. Right now Tony controls the south gate, Hale controls the road, and half your security team has either betrayed you or been isolated. Staying here means fighting on Tony's terms."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"Where do you suggest we go?"
"Somewhere Tony doesn't associate with power."
"That eliminates most of Chicago."
Elena ignored the remark.
"You told me there are three copies of the ledger. One is with someone Tony believes is dead. We need that person."
Marcus looked between them.
"Who?"
Vincent hesitated.
For a man who had built his life on secrets, the next sentence seemed almost physically difficult.
"Samuel DeLuca."
Marcus went still.
Teresa crossed herself.
Elena frowned.
"Who is Samuel DeLuca?"
Marcus stared at Vincent.
"He died twelve years ago."
"No," Vincent said. "We buried a coffin twelve years ago."
Teresa closed her eyes.
"Madonna mia."
Elena stared at Vincent.
"You faked a man's death?"
"I arranged for a man to survive people who wanted him dead."
"That's a very Vincent Torino way to phrase it."
"You'll get used to it."
"I don't plan to."
For some reason, that made Vincent smile.
It disappeared quickly.
"Samuel was my attorney before Nora Feldman. He helped build the legal walls around my businesses. When he discovered Tony was using one of our companies to move money without my authorization, he came to me. Two days later, someone shot at his car."
Marcus looked sick.
"Tony."
"I suspected someone inside the organization but couldn't prove who. I moved Samuel and his wife out of state. Made people believe he died from his injuries."
Elena understood.
"And you gave him the ledger."
"A copy."
"Where is he now?"
Vincent looked at the old conservatory clock.
"Not far."
"How far?"
"Forty minutes if traffic behaves."
Teresa snorted.
"In Chicago? Then he's three hours away."
Vincent ignored her.
They moved through the west service wing.
The emergency drill had worked better than expected. Most of the household staff had already reached the greenhouse. Two loyal guards, Frank Mendez and Calvin Brooks, had freed the men locked in the maintenance room.
Vincent gave one order.
"Everyone leaves. Nobody stays to defend property."
Frank stared at him.
"Boss, we can hold the house."
"No."
"This is your home."
"A home can be rebuilt. People cannot."
Elena looked at him.
That was not the answer she had expected from a man whose reputation had been built on possession and control.
Frank nodded.
Within minutes, the remaining staff moved toward the gardener's gate in small groups.
Vincent refused an armored SUV.
"Tony will watch for it."
Teresa tossed him a set of keys.
"Take mine."
Vincent looked through the greenhouse glass toward a faded blue minivan parked near the staff cottages.
"Absolutely not."
"Then die fashionable."
Elena took the keys from Teresa.
"We're taking the van."
Vincent looked at her.
"You seem very comfortable overruling me."
"I'm developing the habit."
They loaded Marcus into the second row.
Elena drove.
Vincent sat beside her in the passenger seat, a position he clearly hated.
As the minivan rolled through the gardener's gate, the mansion disappeared behind trees.
For the first time in thirty years, Vincent Torino fled his own home in a vehicle containing two child seats, a grocery coupon envelope, and a plastic saint attached to the dashboard.
Marcus, pale from blood loss, looked at the plastic figure.
"Saint Christopher. Patron saint of travelers."
Vincent stared straight ahead.
"If he gets us through tonight, I'll build him a church."
Elena almost laughed.
Then the rear window flashed orange.
All three turned.
A plume of fire rose above the trees.
Vincent's mansion had begun to burn.
Marcus whispered, "Tony."
Vincent watched flames climb behind the roofline of the home where he had spent half his life.
His wedding photographs were inside.
His wife's piano.
His brother's letters.
Thirty years of power, memory, sin, and grief.
Elena expected rage.
Instead, Vincent looked forward again.
"Drive."
She did.
May you like
Behind them, the empire burned.
Ahead of them, the truth was waiting.
