Chapter 5 - SUNDAY DINNER
Julian Vance stopped ten feet away, tapping the silver tip of his cane lightly against the shattered glass on the floor. His dark hair was meticulously styled, his expression a masterpiece of cold, corporate arrogance.
He looked down at Marcus bleeding against the desk, then shifted his gaze to me, sitting in my wheelchair with the manila folder clutched in my lap.
“Well, Marcus,” Julian sighed, shaking his head with mild disappointment. “I always said you lacked the finesse required for long-term administration. Look at this mess. You broke my cousin’s study.”
“He figured it out, Julian,” Marcus groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs. “The little girl... she found the photograph. It unraveled.”
Julian clicked his tongue, turning his attention back to me. “Children are terribly observant, aren't they? I told Marcus we should have relocated that housekeeper and her kid weeks ago. But sentimentality is a dangerous weakness. Just like your little weekend trip to the bookstore three years ago, Adrian.”
I gripped the armrests of my wheelchair, my knuckles turning white. Every instinct in my body screamed for violence, for blood, for retribution.
“You killed Claire and Sophie,” I said, my voice barely audible above the hum of the estate’s security system.
“An unfortunate logistical error,” Julian replied smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks as if we were discussing a bad quarter on the stock market. “As Marcus undoubtedly told you, the car was rigged for you. If your wife hadn't decided to run errands ahead of schedule, none of this unpleasantness would have been necessary. But honestly, cousin? You were getting soft. A man with a wife and a child is a man who can be compromised. I simply... streamlined your portfolio.”
The tactical guards raised their weapons slightly at Julian’s gesture, stepping closer to encircle my chair.
“And the paralysis?” I asked, staring straight into his cold eyes. “You kept me in this chair for three years.”
“I gave you peace, Adrian,” Julian smiled, spreading his hands. “Think about it! No board meetings, no cartel wars, no stress of running the syndicate. I took all the burden off your shoulders and let you rest in luxury. You should be thanking me.”
“You poisoned me every single day,” I growled.
“And I stopped doing it ten minutes ago, once I realized Grace and the child had escaped,” Julian said, his smile fading into something sharp and predatory. “Which brings us to the present dilemma. The federal marshals will be here shortly thanks to your housekeeper. We need to expedite your retirement, Adrian.”
Julian nodded to the lead tactical guard.
The guard stepped forward, drawing a heavy silencer from his tactical vest and screwing it onto the barrel of his rifle with a soft, metallic click. He raised the weapon, pointing it directly at the center of my forehead.
“Any last words, cousin?” Julian asked, checking his watch. “Make it quick. I have a board meeting in the morning, and I need to draft your obituary for the press release.”
I looked at the black hole of the silencer. I thought of Claire. I thought of Sophie. I thought of the three years I had spent believing I was broken.
Then I thought of what Marcus had said: The blast damaged your spine... but six months after the hospital discharge, your nerves started regenerating.
The paralytic agent in my water had been the only thing keeping my legs dead.
And Grace had taken the last glass away twenty minutes ago.
My heart hammered against my ribs. A faint, prickly heat began to crawl down from my hips, spreading warmth through my thighs—a sensation I hadn't felt in thirty-six months. The nerves were waking up.
I didn't answer Julian’s question.
Instead, I smiled.
It was a cold, frightening smile—the same smile that had terrified rival bosses across New York before I ever sat behind a desk.
Julian frowned, taking a half-step back. “What are you smiling at?”
“You forgot the first rule of dealing with a Moretti, Julian,” I whispered.
I planted my hands firmly on the armrests, gritted my teeth until my jaw ached, and pushed upward with every ounce of fury, strength, and life left in my body.
May you like
My legs locked.
For the first time in three years, I stood up out of the wheelchair.
