Chapter 7 - The Master of the House
In the third-floor study, Carlo Vitale sat behind Damiano’s walnut desk, his eyes glued to the screen of a encrypted satellite laptop.
The clock on the wall read 5:18 a.m.
"Come on... come on," Carlo muttered anxiously, clicking the mouse frantically. "Transfer complete: $2,300,000 to Cayman account."
A green checkmark appeared on the screen.
Carlo let out a massive breath of relief, a triumphant, arrogant smile spreading across his face. He leaned back in Damiano’s plush leather chair, reaching into his pocket to admire the steel pocket watch he had stolen from Damiano’s desk.
Il tempo è tutto.
"It certainly is," Carlo laughed aloud to himself, tossing the watch playfully into the air and catching it.
"Put my father's watch down, Carlo."
The voice came from the dark doorway.
Carlo froze mid-air. The watch slipped through his fingers, clattering loudly against the dark mahogany desktop.
Carlo’s head snapped up, his eyes bulging in absolute, mind-shattering horror.
Standing in the doorway was Damiano Falcone.
He looked like a ghost risen from the grave—his face covered in dried blood, his shirt torn, holding a silenced pistol pointed directly at Carlo’s chest. But what terrified Carlo more than the gun... was Damiano’s hands.
They were bare.
"No..." Carlo stammered, his face turning the color of ash, his voice rising into an octave of pure panic. "No! It's impossible! The chains... the three guards..."
"The three guards are dead in the vault," Damiano said flatly, stepping slowly into the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him with a soft click. "And the chains were unlocked by a three-year-old child you deemed worthless."
Carlo frantically reached for his pistol sitting on the desk, but Damiano moved with blinding, effortless speed.
THWIP.
A single suppressed shot tore through the center of Carlo’s right hand, pinning his palm to the leather blotter on the desk.
"AAAHHHH!" Carlo shrieked in agony, blood spurting across the ledger papers as he clutched his shattered hand, tears of terror streaming down his cheeks. "Damiano! Please! Mercy! Salvatore forced me! He threatened my family!"
"You don't have a family, Carlo," Damiano said coldly, walking over to the desk. "You sold your soul for green numbers on a computer screen."
Damiano reached down, picked up his father's steel pocket watch from the desk, wiped a speck of blood off its scratched face, and carefully slipped it into his breast pocket.
He looked down at the screaming, groveling traitor.
"You told me that when I disappeared, you would take the reins of this house," Damiano whispered into Carlo’s ear, his bare hand grabbing Carlo by the collar. "But you forgot the most important rule of Eldergate."
"W-what rule?" Carlo sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.
"I built this house," Damiano said softly. "And no one takes what is mine."
May you like
Damiano raised the weapon.
THWIP.
