Chapter 8 - The Sins of the Brother
Deep beneath the Moretti estate, in a damp, concrete cell lit by a single swinging bulb, Marcus sat chained to a steel chair. His face was bruised and swollen, his tailored suit ruined, sweating frantically as the heavy iron door squeaked open.
I walked into the cell alone, carrying no weapons, wearing only a plain dark shirt and trousers.
Marcus jumped in his chains, his eyes wild with fear. "Julian! Julian, please! Did you find him? Is Mateo—"
"He's upstairs," I said quietly, stopping five feet from him, folding my arms across my chest. "He's eating breakfast with his brother."
Marcus let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning his head back against the cold wall. "Thank God... thank God he's safe. Julian, listen to me... I know what I did was unforgivable. But I'm your brother! Our father made us swear on his deathbed that we would never shed each other's blood!"
I stared at him in absolute silence for almost a minute. The quiet in the room was heavier than a mountain.
"Father also told us that a man who betrays his family isn't a man at all," I replied smoothly. "He's a parasite."
"Julian, please!" Marcus wept, rattling his steel chains desperately. "Don't kill me! Exile me! Send me to Europe! Give me a fake identity! I'll never return to America! I swear on our mother's grave!"
"You swore on our mother's grave three years ago when you helped steal my wife and children," I reminded him, my voice devoid of anger—only absolute, final judgment. "You let me mourn a empty casket, Marcus. You watched me drink myself to death for three years while you pocketed cartel money."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a single plane ticket to Geneva, along with a thick manila envelope.
Marcus stared at the ticket in complete shock. "What... what is this?"
"Your life," I said, tossing the envelope onto his lap. "Inside that envelope is a new passport, a lease for a small apartment in Switzerland, and a bank account with five hundred thousand dollars."
Marcus’s eyes widened in disbelief. "You're... you're letting me go?"
"No," I said, leaning in close, my dark eyes boring into his soul. "I'm stripping you of the Moretti name. You are dead to this family, Marcus. If you ever set foot on American soil again, if you ever look in the direction of my sons, or if you ever breathe the name Moretti... I won't kill you. I will hand you over to the surviving lieutenants of the Salazar cartel."
Marcus swallowed hard, his skin turning ash-grey. He knew what the cartel did to traitors.
May you like
"You have two hours to get on that plane," I said, stepping back toward the door. "Consider this the only mercy you will ever receive from me. Not because you deserve it... but because my sons deserve a father who doesn't have his brother's blood on his hands."
I opened the iron door and walked out, leaving Marcus sobbing alone in the dark.
