Chapter 7 - The Brother Vincent Buried
Before going to Marchetti House, Vincent listened to Javier’s hidden recording.
It lasted twenty-seven minutes.
The first voice belonged to Vincent’s father, Salvatore Marchetti.
Dead five years.
The second belonged to Raymond Vale.
The third belonged to Matteo.
Twenty-seven minutes dismantled nine years of assumptions.
Northern Prairie began as Salvatore’s project.
Raymond created the legal structures.
Matteo supervised distribution.
The recording made that clear.
Vincent listened without speaking.
Matteo sat across the table.
He looked older with every minute.
When the recording ended, Vincent removed the headphones.
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Dad tried to kill you because you discovered the network.”
“He did.”
“You helped build it.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Two years.”
“How many shipments?”
“Hundreds.”
Vincent stared.
“And then you developed a conscience?”
Matteo looked away.
“No.”
“What changed?”
“A girl died.”
Vincent said nothing.
“Sixteen,” Matteo continued. “Fake oxycodone tablet. Fentanyl. Her father worked at one of our warehouses.”
His voice broke slightly.
“I saw him at the funeral.”
“And suddenly you cared.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I was selfish.”
“You were criminal.”
“So were you.”
Vincent did not react.
Matteo continued.
“We both grew up in that house believing family business was law.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“I know.”
“Then stop explaining it like it does.”
Matteo nodded.
He accepted that.
“When Dad realized I wanted out, he tried to kill me.”
“And you faked your death.”
“Yes.”
“Then spent nine years secretly fighting the network you helped create.”
“Yes.”
“Why not go federal?”
Matteo laughed bitterly.
“Because I was guilty too.”
There it was.
Not strategy.
Fear of consequences.
Vincent understood that better than he wanted to.
“What happened to Javier?”
“Raymond ordered Marcus Grant to stop him.”
“Stop?”
“I don’t know the original instruction.”
“Frank says Javier was pushed.”
“He was.”
“By whom?”
“Grant.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“And you knew.”
“Afterward.”
“Did you go to Alina?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To find the drive.”
Vincent’s eyes opened.
Not to comfort her.
Not to protect her.
Evidence.
Matteo nodded.
“I’m not proud.”
“You keep saying that like shame repairs anything.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Vincent stood.
“After tonight, you turn yourself in.”
Matteo laughed.
“You're serious.”
“Yes.”
“You want me in prison.”
“I want you accountable.”
“Same thing.”
“Possibly.”
Matteo stared.
“And you?”
Vincent stopped.
Fair question.
His past wasn't clean.
He had never trafficked fentanyl.
Never targeted civilians.
But he had extorted people.
Ordered beatings.
Protected illegal gambling operations earlier in life.
Paid bribes.
He had spent years cleaning his companies without publicly answering for everything that came before.
“I don't know yet.”
Matteo smiled sadly.
“At least that's honest.”
Marchetti House stood on the western edge of Chicago.
Their grandfather built it in 1964.
Stone walls.
Iron gates.
Dark windows.
Vincent hadn’t entered since his father’s funeral.
At 11:58 p.m., he arrived with Matteo and Celeste.
Dominic’s teams waited beyond the property.
Alina and Mia remained at Vincent’s estate.
That was the plan.
Alina hated it.
Mia demanded Vincent take Bunny “for safe.”
So a feared Chicago businessman entered his old family mansion with a worn stuffed rabbit inside his coat.
He told no one.
The doors were open.
Raymond waited in the main hall.
Anthony stood beside him.
And Frank.
Ethan sat in a chair near the fireplace.
Hands tied.
Alive.
Celeste gasped.
“Mom?”
“Ethan.”
Raymond held up a pistol.
“Stop.”
They did.
Vincent looked around.
“This feels unnecessarily theatrical.”
Raymond smiled.
“Your father liked this room.”
“My father liked many terrible things.”
Anthony laughed.
“Listen to him.”
Vincent looked at his cousin.
“You tried to shoot me with a child in the room.”
“I missed.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
Anthony’s smile disappeared.
Raymond gestured.
“The drive.”
Celeste held it.
“Ethan first.”
“No.”
Matteo spoke.
“This is over, Ray.”
Raymond looked at him.
“You've been saying that for nine years.”
Vincent understood something.
These men had been trapped in the same conflict for nearly a decade.
His father’s war continued because everyone believed victory remained possible.
“What happens if you get the drive?” Vincent asked.
Raymond smiled.
“You disappear.”
“And the companies?”
“Anthony assumes emergency family control.”
Anthony straightened.
Vincent almost pitied him.
“And Raymond?”
Anthony frowned.
“What?”
Vincent looked at him.
“You think he gives you control?”
Anthony’s face changed.
“Shut up.”
“He used my father. Used Matteo. Used Grant. Used Frank. Used Celeste.”
Vincent turned toward Raymond.
“You’re going to use Anthony too.”
Raymond's expression remained neutral.
Anthony looked less certain.
“Don't listen.”
Vincent continued.
“How many accounts are already waiting offshore?”
Raymond raised the gun.
“Enough.”
That was answer enough.
Anthony stared at him.
“You said we rebuild.”
Raymond sighed.
“Anthony.”
“You said—”
“Please don't become sentimental now.”
Betrayal finally reached the betrayer.
Anthony lifted his weapon.
Frank moved first.
He hit Anthony's arm.
Gunshot.
Chaos.
Celeste ran to Ethan.
Matteo tackled Raymond.
Vincent pulled Anthony backward.
Another gunshot shattered glass.
Dominic’s men entered.
Frank was hit in the shoulder.
Raymond escaped through the library.
Vincent followed.
Old hallways.
Old memories.
He found Raymond in Salvatore’s study.
The same room Vincent’s father once used to teach his sons that fear was respect.
Raymond stood beside the desk.
Gun raised.
“You ruined this family.”
Vincent laughed softly.
“No.”
“You think turning legitimate makes you righteous?”
“No.”
“You think helping maids and children erases blood?”
“No.”
Raymond frowned.
Vincent continued.
“That's what you don't understand.”
“What?”
“I’m not trying to erase it.”
He took one step.
“I’m trying to stop adding to it.”
Raymond fired.
Bullet struck the wall beside him.
Vincent moved.
They collided.
Gun fell.
Vincent hit Raymond once.
Twice.
Third time.
Raymond collapsed against the desk.
Vincent grabbed his throat.
His father’s voice lived in memory.
Finish what you start.
Vincent tightened his grip.
Then felt something inside his coat.
Bunny.
Mia’s rabbit.
Ridiculous.
Soft.
Small.
A reminder.
Vincent released Raymond.
Raymond coughed.
“You've gotten weak.”
Vincent stood.
“No.”
Federal agents entered behind Dominic.
May you like
Vincent looked down at Raymond.
“I just learned you don't get to decide what strength means anymore.”
