Chapter 4: Shadows of the Past
The silence that followed Vincent’s question felt heavier than the concrete ceiling above them. Leo froze, his breath catching in his throat as the color drained entirely from his face. The claim about the balcony footsteps faltered, dying a quiet death under the weight of hard facts. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his trembling hands. The confident, slightly arrogant facade he usually wore around the Morano estate was completely gone, replaced by the pathetic panic of a cornered animal.
Vincent walked around to the front of the chair once more, standing rigidly with his arms crossed over his chest. He watched the younger man with an expression of profound disappointment that stung worse than any physical blow could have. “You thought you could play in deep water, Leo,” Vincent said quietly, his voice devoid of anger now, replaced by a chilling clinical detachment. “You thought because Clara fell for your charm, you had secured a permanent place at the Morano table. You forgot whose house you were sleeping in. You forgot that every secret in this city flows through my hands before the sun even rises.”
Leo finally lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “I love her, Mr. Morano. I swear to God, I do. The baby is mine. We were planning to leave, to start our own life away from the pressure, away from your shadow. That’s all it was. We were just arguing about how to tell you.”
“Leaving?” Vincent raised a single silver eyebrow. “With whose money? Using whose passport? Clara is twenty-six, but she has never spent a single day of her life outside the perimeter of my protection. You were taking her nowhere, Leo. And as for the bruises... you may not have thrown the punches yourself, but you invited the wolves into the fold.”
Across the room, the door to the medical alcove opened softly. The medic stepped out, nodding quietly to Vincent to indicate that Clara was stable, sleeping under the influence of a mild sedative. Vincent acknowledged the update with a brief nod of his head before turning his absolute attention back to the captive young man.
“Tell me about Marcus,” Vincent said softly.
Leo flinched violently at the name, pulling back as if he had been physically struck. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The mention of Marcus—a disgraced former associate of the Morano enterprise who had vanished six months prior—shattered whatever remaining defense Leo had prepared.
“I... I don't know what you’re talking about,” Leo stammered, though his voice lacked any conviction whatsoever.
“Marcus loves a grudge,” Vincent continued, his tone conversational, pacing slowly as he spoke. “And he loves leverage even more. He knew about your gambling debts, Leo. He knew you owed fifty thousand dollars to the syndicate downtown. And he knew that the easiest way to strike at me was through my daughter. He used you as a key, didn't he? You left the side security gate unlocked tonight.”
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Leo began to shake his head frantically. “He threatened me! He said if I didn't let him in to talk to Clara about the inheritance documents, he would break my legs and send pictures to you. I didn't know he was going to hurt her! I swear I didn't think he would lay a hand on her!”
Vincent stopped pacing. His face remained completely still, but the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The confession was out, hanging in the sterile light of the warehouse basement.
