Chapter 4 - THE CONFESSION OF THE JUDAS
Renato collapsed onto his knees, his shattered wrist dripping blood onto the priceless Oriental rug. The dignified, flawless house manager was gone, replaced by a broken, pathetic traitor cornered in the dark.
Outside, the sounds of gunfire were fading. Enzo and the loyal Vitale soldiers had successfully contained the breach, wiping out the mercenary squad that Renato had hired to cover his final betrayal.
“It was Victor Rossi...” Renato wept, his body trembling violently against the edge of the desk. “Victor wanted the harbor routes twenty years ago! Your father discovered that Victor was stealing millions from the shipping accounts. Domenico was going to execute him at the morning meeting!”
Damiano’s grip on the pistol didn't waver by a millimeter. “And you?”
“Victor paid me!” Renato sobbed. “Five million dollars into a Swiss account! He gave me a digitalis compound—odorless, tasteless. I put it in Domenico’s midnight espresso while he was writing in his journal!”
Damiano’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth groaned. Digitalis. It induced a massive, fatal cardiac arrest that mimicked a natural heart attack, leaving no trace in a standard autopsy unless specifically searched for.
“And my brother?” Damiano demanded, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifying register. “Domenico’s second son?”
“Julian found out...” Renato whimpered, looking terrified at Mia, who was standing behind Damiano, watching with quiet, solemn eyes. “Three years ago, Julian found your father’s old personal diary in a safe deposit box in Albany. He realized Domenico was his father. He started asking questions... he came to Cold Spring to confront me...”
Renato choked on his own blood, tears streaming down his face.
“I couldn't let him talk to you, Damiano!” Renato cried. “If Julian told you about the digitalis, you would have killed me and Victor both! So... so Victor’s men ambushed Julian on his farm in Pennsylvania. They buried him in the woods... but his wife and daughter escaped...”
Damiano felt a cold, terrible clarity wash over him.
Every tragedy of his adult life—his father’s sudden death, the paranoia, the endless wars with rival families, the isolation that had turned his heart into stone—had been manufactured by the two men he had trusted to run his empire.
They had kept him isolated, paranoid, and locked in a cage of fear so they could drain the family’s wealth from the shadows.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway outside.
The study door was kicked open, and Enzo burst into the room, shotgun raised, accompanied by four blood-spattered guards.
Enzo stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene: Renato on his knees bleeding, Damiano holding a gun to his head, and little Mia standing behind Damiano, holding the silver pocket watch.
“Damiano?” Enzo asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What happened? The mercenaries outside—they were carrying Victor Rossi’s private payroll tags.”
“Victor Rossi betrayed us,” Damiano said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “He killed my father twenty years ago. He murdered my brother three years ago. And Renato was his hand.”
Enzo’s face went completely white. A cold, lethal fury ignited in his eyes. He racked his shotgun with a deafening CLACK.
“Give me the word, Damiano,” Enzo growled. “I’ll take care of them both tonight.”
“No,” Damiano commanded.
He lowered his pistol from Renato’s forehead and took a step back.
Renato looked up, a faint, desperate flicker of hope flashing in his eyes. “Damiano... please... mercy! I raised you after your father died! I served you!”
Damiano looked down at Renato with profound, absolute disgust.
“Mercy is for men, Renato,” Damiano said quietly. “You are a parasite.”
Damiano turned to Enzo. “Put Renato in the cellar bunker. Secure his wounds so he doesn't bleed out. I want him alive when we bring Victor Rossi to join him.”
“And Victor?” Enzo asked, his eyes gleaming with dark intent.
Damiano reached down, gently picked up Mia in his left arm, and tucked her securely against his hip. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, safe in his shadow.
“Victor is currently at his estate in Saratoga, waiting for Renato’s phone call to confirm I am dead,” Damiano said.
May you like
He looked around the ruined study, then down at the silver pocket watch in Mia’s tiny hands. The steady tick-tock felt stronger now—no longer a countdown to his own destruction, but a countdown to absolute reckoning.
“Gather forty men,” Damiano ordered Enzo, his voice echoing through the dark mansion like a decree from God. “We are driving to Saratoga tonight. It is time to clear my father’s ledger.”
