Chapter 6 - The Weight of Steel
Roman stared at his cousin for three long seconds.
Then he stood up.
He did not rush. He walked around the mahogany desk with the heavy, unhurried stride of a predator that had already closed the exit routes.
Julian reached into his jacket pocket, his hand moving toward the small snub-nosed revolver he carried in his leather holster, but before his fingers could touch the grip, Marco stepped behind him.
A heavy, leather-gloved hand closed over Julian’s wrist like a vise, twisting it upward until the bone popped with a sickening snap.
Julian screamed, dropping to his knees on the Persian rug, clutching his broken wrist against his vest.
“Get him up,” Roman said quietly.
Marco hauled Julian to his feet by his collar, pressing him face-first against the edge of the mahogany desk.
Roman stood over him. He reached down, picked up the silver paperweight—a heavy, solid-brass replica of the Valenti crest—and set it on the desk three inches from Julian’s nose.
“You lived under my roof for fifteen years, Julian,” Roman said, his voice flat, devoid of passion, which made it infinitely more terrifying than rage. “My father paid for your law school. I gave you fifteen percent of the shipping lines. I trusted you with my life, my accounts, and my name.”
“Roman... please,” Julian gasped through his teeth, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the blotter. “We’re blood...”
“Claire was my wife,” Roman said. “And the child she is carrying is a Valenti. You didn't just steal from a trust, Julian. You starved my child on the streets of my own city.”
Roman nodded once to Marco.
“Take him to the basement in the South Side warehouse,” Roman ordered. “Don't touch him until I get there. And bring Howard Vance.”
“What about the old man?” Marco asked, gesturing toward Arthur, who was huddled on the floor, weeping.
Roman looked at Arthur. “Give him twenty thousand dollars. Strip his pension, confiscate his passport, and put him on a train to Florida by noon. If I ever see his face in Cook County again, put him in the canal.”
“Thank you, Signor... thank you...” Arthur babbled, kissing the edge of Roman’s shoe.
Roman didn't look back as Marco dragged Julian out of the library, his heels scraping against the hardwood floor until the double doors slammed shut.
The library was silent again.
May you like
Roman stood alone in the dark room. He picked up a clean linen handkerchief from his drawer and wiped the black ink from his fingers. His hands were no longer shaking.
He walked out of the library and headed up the stairs toward the master bedroom.
