Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Dark
The walls of the Corvino mansion were thick, but secrets had a way of seeping through the floorboards.
Word had reached the inner circle that Dominic was falling apart. His accounts frozen, his lieutenants turning on each other in paranoia, and the federal net tightening around his neck—the mighty underboss was suddenly looking less like a kingpin and more like a hunted animal.
And yet, nobody could figure out who had broken him.
It was a chilly Tuesday evening when the doorbell rang—not with the polite tap of a maid, but with the frantic, heavy pounding of someone in deep panic.
Vincent was resting in bed while Tessa was organizing his medical chart on the bedside table. The heavy oak door swung open without warning, and a breathless, disheveled figure stumbled into the room.
It was Marco, Vincent's former head of security—a scarred, heavy-set veteran who had abandoned Vincent the moment he was shot, siding with Dominic out of self-preservation. Now, Marco looked like a ghost who had seen the devil.
"Vince..." Marco breathed heavily, his hands shaking as he gripped the footboard of the bed. "Vince, you gotta help me. Dominic's gone insane. He thinks I leaked the accounts to the feds. He put a hit out on me. Men are outside—they're coming for me!"
Vincent didn't move. He didn't blink. He simply stared at Marco with a chilling, dead-eyed expression that made the grown man flinch.
"You swore an oath to me, Marco," Vincent said, his voice a low, gravelly scrape that cut through the silence. "When the bullet hit my spine, you didn't call an ambulance. You called Dominic and helped him carry my files out of the office."
Marco fell to his knees beside the bed, tears welling in his eyes. "I was scared, Vince! Everyone thought you were dead! Dominic said—"
"Dominic is a coward who builds his throne on sand," Vincent interrupted, his tone razor-sharp. "And you are a rat who abandoned ship the second water touched your ankles. Get off my floor."
Marco looked up in sheer desperation, glancing frantically around the room. That was when his eyes landed on Tessa, standing quietly by the medicine cabinet with her hands folded neatly in front of her. Marco squinted, recognizing her uniform.
"You!" Marco sneered, suddenly fueled by bitter anger and humiliation. "You're just a fucking maid! You're standing here listening to mob business? Vince has lost his mind, keeping a low-class cleaner in the inner sanctum while our whole empire burns—"
CLACK.
In a blur of motion too fast for his ruined legs, Vincent had pivoted his wheelchair forward, his hand striking the edge of the mahogany tray with such force that the heavy ceramic tea mug shattered against the floorboards right between Marco's knees.
"Say another word about her," Vincent whispered, leaning forward, his broad shoulders tensed with lethal energy, "and I won't let Dominic kill you. I'll do it myself."
Marco froze, the blood draining from his face. He looked at Vincent's eyes—burning with absolute, terrifying authority—and realized with absolute horror that the king of the underworld was far from dead.
"Get him out of my sight," Vincent ordered without looking back.
Tessa didn't hesitate. She stepped toward the doorway, her voice calm, clear, and cutting. "Marco. The back service elevator is clear of Dominic's men. If you run now, you might make it to the state line. If you stay another second, Mr. Corvino won't need to lift a finger—I'll call the police myself."
Marco scrambled backward on his hands and knees, terrorized by both the crippled boss and the calm, unyielding maid, before bolting down the hallway like a frightened dog.
The heavy door clicked shut once more.
Vincent exhaled slowly, leaning back against his pillows. He looked up at Tessa, his dark eyes softening just a fraction.
"You didn't have to help him escape," Vincent said quietly.
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Tessa walked back to the bedside, picking up a stray piece of broken ceramic with a dustpan. "I didn't help him. I just cleared the trash out of your room, Mr. Corvino."
A low, genuine chuckle rumbled in Vincent's chest. For the first time, he reached out, his warm, strong hand resting gently over her knuckles. Tessa didn't pull away. She paused, looking down at his hand, her heart skipping a beat against the rhythm of the quiet room.
