572 Chapter 1: The Girl in the Blood-Stained Dress

The library of the Rossi estate smelled of old leather and expensive scotch.

Victor Rossi sat slumped in a high-backed leather armchair, holding an ice pack against his bruised wrist. His breathing was shallow, his eyes darting frantically toward the heavy oak door where two of Vincent’s enforcers stood like statues.

Vincent stood by the grand fireplace, staring down at the flickering amber flames. He held the Saint Christopher medal in his palm, turning it over and over.

"Talk, Victor," Vincent said softly. "And make it quick, because my patience ran out twenty minutes ago."

Rossi swallowed hard, his bravado entirely gone. He looked like an old, cornered animal.

"It wasn't supposed to go down like that," Rossi rasped, his voice trembling. "In '95... Maria found out that the warehouse fire wasn't an accident. She found the accounting books showing that you and I were being set up by the Outfit council to take the fall for the embezzlement."

Vincent froze. The fire in the fireplace seemed to roar louder in his ears.

"Go on," Vincent whispered.

"Maria took the ledger," Rossi continued, sweating profusely. "She planned to use it as leverage to get you out of Chicago safely. She wanted you both to run away to Canada, just like you promised. But the council found out. They ordered a hit on her before she could meet you at the train station."

Vincent’s chest tightened. The memory of that night—waiting on the cold platform at Union Station for three hours, believing she had abandoned him—crushed down on him with suffocating weight.

"She didn't die in the warehouse," Vincent stated, not as a question, but as a chilling realization.

"No," Rossi whispered. "She survived the blast, but she was badly burned. She went into hiding on the South Side, changed her name, and raised her daughter in absolute secrecy so the council would never find her lineage. She knew that if anyone ever connected Elena to her real identity... the target would pass to the child."

Vincent turned slowly away from the fireplace. His eyes were cold enough to freeze blood.

"And you found out about it last week."

"One of my old bookkeepers spotted Elena at a grocery store downtown," Rossi admitted, shrinking back into the chair. "He recognized her face—she looks just like Maria did at twenty. I realized if Elena had her mother’s old ledger, she could tear down every asset I've accumulated over the last thirty years. I had to silence her."

Vincent took two slow steps toward the chair.

"You sent men to terrorize a mother in front of her seven-year-old child," Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You touched the bloodline of the only woman I ever loved."

Rossi’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated panic. "Vincent, wait! We're old men! We built this city together! Let’s make a deal—"

"There are no deals tonight, Victor," Vincent interrupted.

He signaled toward the door. Tony stepped inside, carrying a thick manila folder and a digital voice recorder.

"Boss?" Tony asked.

"Play it for him," Vincent instructed.

Tony pressed play. The recorder hissed slightly before playing back every word Rossi had just confessed, capturing the entire admission of the 1995 conspiracy, the embezzlement frame-up, and the ordered hit on Elena Martinez.

Rossi stared at the recorder in horror. "You... you recorded it?"

"Every word," Vincent said coldly, slipping the recorder into his coat pocket. "By sunrise, this confession goes to every federal prosecutor in Illinois, as well as the remaining capos of the Chicago syndicate. Your assets will be seized, your friends will turn on you, and you will spend the rest of your natural life rotting in a supermax prison cell."

"You can't do this!" Rossi screamed, lunging forward out of the chair. "I'll kill you! I'll—"

Before Rossi could take two steps, Tony stepped into his path, leveling the butt of his rifle with brutal efficiency and striking Rossi across the temple. The aging mob boss collapsed instantly onto the Persian rug, unconscious.