Chapter 8 - When the Castellano Family Turned on Itself
Vincent evacuated the estate.
Every housekeeper.
Cook.
Gardener.
Driver.
Clerk.
Children first.
Camille refused to leave.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Vincent stared.
“You have a talent for arguing with armed men.”
“You have a talent for making decisions for everyone.”
“Rafael is coming here.”
“I know.”
“Addie leaves.”
“Yes.”
That surprised him.
“Clara is taking her to the secure hospital residence.”
“Good.”
“And I'm staying.”
“No.”
“Vincent.”
“No.”
“Mateo is here.”
“That is not the argument you think.”
“He knows Rafael.”
“So do I.”
“He knows the old tunnels.”
Vincent paused.
“What tunnels?”
Mateo entered the library.
“Dad’s.”
Of course.
Old Castellano estate.
Prohibition-era routes beneath portions of the property.
Vincent had sealed two.
Apparently more existed.
Mateo spread maps.
Rafael knew the original layout.
Marcus knew modern security.
Together they could enter almost anywhere.
Camille pointed.
“Then you need people who know service spaces.”
Vincent frowned.
“You?”
“I've cleaned this house eight months.”
She was right.
Again.
“I know dumbwaiters, storage stairs, linen corridors, basement access panels.”
Vincent hated it.
Useful.
Dangerous.
“You stay with me.”
Camille raised an eyebrow.
“Romantic.”
“Not intended.”
“Good.”
Mateo smiled.
“This is weird.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You were dead last week. Don't judge.”
By midnight, the estate looked empty.
Federal tactical teams hid outside.
Vincent, Mateo, Camille, Isabella, and Dominic—no, Dominic not traitor in this story? Marcus was security chief; okay Dominic not present. Dr. Lena and trusted staff gone.
At 1:18 a.m., outer power failed.
At 1:21, north cameras died.
At 1:23, a basement sensor triggered.
Rafael had arrived.
Vincent moved through the library with Mateo.
Camille monitored service hallways from a protected room.
Then her radio clicked.
“Vincent.”
“What?”
“Someone is in the laundry corridor.”
“Stay back.”
“I am.”
A figure appeared.
Marcus.
He entered from behind a linen storage panel.
Exactly as Camille predicted.
Vincent intercepted him near the stairwell.
Marcus laughed.
“Boss.”
“Former.”
“Fair.”
“Where is Rafael?”
“Everywhere.”
“Dramatic.”
Marcus lifted his pistol.
Mateo appeared behind him.
“Drop it.”
Marcus turned.
Vincent struck.
Weapon fell.
Fight fast.
Ugly.
Marcus was stronger than expected.
He drove Vincent into a wall.
Wound tore.
Pain.
Mateo tackled him.
Marcus grabbed a knife.
Again.
Camille appeared at the corridor end holding a fire extinguisher.
Vincent stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
She discharged foam directly into Marcus’s face.
He cursed.
Mateo knocked the knife away.
Vincent actually laughed.
“You used a fire extinguisher.”
“It was nearby.”
“Remind me never to argue in a kitchen.”
“You already do.”
Federal agents took Marcus.
Then gunshots erupted outside.
Rafael’s men breached the west wing.
Isabella screamed over radio.
“They’re heading toward Dad’s study.”
Vincent understood.
Not him.
The old wall safe.
Rafael wanted something.
He ran.
Inside his father’s study, Rafael stood before the open safe.
“How?”
Rafael smiled.
“I built it.”
“What’s inside?”
“Insurance.”
He removed a small metal box.
Vincent pointed his gun.
“Put it down.”
Rafael looked old now.
Not powerful.
Just unwilling to become irrelevant.
“You gave them everything.”
“Yes.”
“You confessed.”
“Yes.”
“You’re destroying us.”
“No.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You already did.”
Rafael raised his weapon.
Mateo entered from side door.
“Uncle.”
Rafael laughed.
“The ghost.”
“Put it down.”
For a moment, three generations of corruption existed in one room.
Vincent.
Mateo.
Rafael.
Then Isabella appeared.
“Please.”
Rafael looked at her.
Something softened.
“My girl.”
She cried.
“You made me afraid of my own family.”
“I protected you.”
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand enough.”
Rafael looked around.
“You all think the world rewards weakness.”
Vincent replied:
“No. I think we taught ourselves cruelty was strength because it was easier.”
Rafael’s hand trembled.
Gun still raised.
Then a tiny voice came from the doorway.
“Uncle Vin?”
Everyone froze.
Adeline.
Camille behind her.
Furious.
“Clara’s vehicle got blocked. We had to return through service gate.”
Vincent’s heart stopped.
“Get her out.”
Rafael saw the child.
His gun shifted.
Not toward her.
Still enough.
Vincent moved between them.
Adeline looked at Rafael.
“Bad man?”
Nobody answered.
Rafael laughed softly.
“Children are rude.”
Adeline held Bunny tightly.
“You hurt Vin?”
Rafael stared.
Then:
“Yes.”
She frowned.
“That bad.”
Simple.
Absolute.
Rafael’s face changed.
Maybe because the judgment came from someone with no interest in family history.
No money.
No power.
Just right and wrong.
He lowered the gun.
Marcus’s distant shouting came from hallway.
Agents approached.
Rafael looked at Vincent.
“Do it.”
He meant shoot.
End family way.
Vincent lowered his weapon too.
“No.”
“Coward.”
“No.”
Federal agents entered.
Vincent stepped aside.
“They can have you.”
Rafael’s face collapsed.
For a man raised to fear death less than humiliation, handcuffs were worse.
They took him.
The metal box from the safe contained emergency cash.
Passports.
Blackmail files.
Enough to destroy dozens of people.
Vincent turned it over unopened.
May you like
His father’s final inheritance.
Returned.
