12. Vinnie

12

VINNIE

I go into Grandfather's office the next morning, determination etched on my face.

"I need some names from you," I say

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh? What names?"

"Anyone you've got in the federal government. Specifically the EPA."

He frowns. "What the hell for?"

"Look. You want me to take over. I'm taking over."

"Really?" he scoffs. "How's Giacomo Puzo doing?"

I strive to keep my face noncommittal. "It's being taken care of."

"I see."

A lightbulb goes off in my head. "Puzo is why I need the Fed connections."

He nods. "I see. So you're going to frame someone in the Feds? Why not just shoot the bastard? It's how it's done."

"I'll be doing things my own way," I say.

He sniffs snidely. "No, Vincent. You'll be doing things my way. You think you can waltz back in here after seventeen years and change it all?" He pulls a pistol—complete with a silencer—out of his desk and pushes it toward me. "This is the gun you'll use to kill Puzo. It's unregistered, and I'll know if the bullet came from it."

I shake my head at him slowly. "No."

"Yes." He rises slowly from his chair. "Or do I have to show you how powerful I am once more?"

I laugh at that. A sarcastic chuckle. "I'm not eighteen anymore, Grandfather. I'm thirty-five, and I've seen the world. Probably more than you've ever seen. And trust me. You'll never lay a hand on me again."

"Maybe I won't," he says. "But I've got goons who will."

I scoff again. "Your goons wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. They know who's going to be the boss when you're gone. And quite frankly? I'd be more worried about what I'm going to do to you with that gun than what you think I'm going to do to Puzo."

For a split second, my grandfather's face has a look of shock on it.

But he's good.

He hides it quickly.

"You're forgetting who's still in charge here. Everyone's on my payroll, not yours."

This time I pick up the gun and point it straight at my grandfather's head.

Again, I see him shudder for a split second. But he's good. He regains his composure quickly.

I gently lay my finger on the trigger. "I could end your life right now. No one would be the wiser. As you say, this gun's unregistered." I frown. "But is it really? Do I trust you ? You think I need to gain your trust. What about mine? For all I know, this gun is registered. Perhaps it's registered to me, and if I shoot you with it, I'll go down."

"Perhaps," he replies with a smirk. "But it seems you fail to remember I'm the only one who knows where all the bodies are buried. And let's say even if you do trust this old man and the gun is indeed unregistered, what's your next move? What's your plan after that, Vincent?"

"I've thought about that," I say slowly, lowering the gun back onto his desk. I don't really have a solid plan yet, but I wasn't going to let him see that doubt. After all these years, my poker game has gotten quite good.

"I figured you'd want me to have some grand master plan right away," I continue. "I'll tell you this: it involves not just survival, but growth. And loyalty. Unforced loyalty."

He lets out a rough laugh. "Unforced loyalty? In our business? You've indeed seen the world, boy, but you clearly haven't learned much about human nature from your travels."

His condescension grates on me, his words dripping with a disdain only someone evil could muster. But I hold my temper in check, reminding myself that he is still the one behind the reins.

"Perhaps you're right," I concede. "Perhaps I haven't learned all there is to learn. But I know enough to realize it's time for a paradigm shift within our family. Our business needs to evolve if we want to survive."

He rolls his eyes. "There's no room for evolution in our line of work. You either rule or you're ruled. You feast or you starve. You kill or be killed."

But even as he says this, I can see the weariness in him. No matter how strongly he projects his outward confidence, he's an old man now. One whose day in the sun has passed.

"Yes, Grandfather," I reply patiently, "and I'm willing to do my part. But right now, I need your connections with the EPA."

"What for?"

"I told you. Puzo."

"Don't underestimate my intelligence, boy. Puzo has nothing to do with the EPA and we both know it. You want this for something personal." He crosses his arms. "We don't do personal."

I scoff. A laughing scoff at that. "We don't do personal? Just yesterday you wanted me to kill Raven Bellamy to punish her brother. An innocent young woman who is trying to recover from a catastrophic illness. You don't get more personal than that."

"What do you need the information for?" he demands.

No way am I telling him I need to stop excavation of land so I can recover Diego Vega's dead body from the Bellamy property. My grandfather would find a way to use it against the Bellamys, whether Savannah is engaged to one of them or not.

I grab the gun quickly and retrain at my grandfather's head. "Asked and answered."

"Fine," he says, his voice laced with frustration. "But remember this, Vincent. You're playing a dangerous game. And in our business, you can't afford to lose."

"I don't intend to," I reply, keeping my gaze steady on his.

He gazes back at me for a moment longer before leaning back in his chair and running a hand across his weary face. He takes a deep breath and pulls out a small worn notebook from his desk drawer, flipping it open to reveal page after page of names and numbers. With a heavy sigh, he jots down a few names on a piece of paper and then slides it across the table towards me.

"Here," he says, "These are the people you need."

I take the piece of paper from him, scanning through the names quickly before pocketing it. "Thank you, Grandfather."

"Don't thank me yet," he mumbles, going back to the pile of paperwork on his desk. "You've yet to see the consequences of your choices."

"I can handle them." I place the gun back on his desk and rise.

As I turn to walk away, my grandfather's voice echoes one last time.

"We'll see, Vincent. We'll see."

I exit his office, my heart pounding in my ears. The ghost of his chilling warning lingers, but it's drowned out by the sweet taste of rebellion.

I let out a long sigh, my mind racing with plans and possibilities. I glance at the piece of paper. These are government officials who can be bought. The price will be high, but I will get what I need out of them.

As I stride down the hallway, my shoes clicking against the marble floor, I glance back at the door of my grandfather's office.

I'm doing this for Savannah, for Falcon.

For Raven.

I drive home to my parents' mansion. It's quiet, as only my mother, the housekeeper, and I live here now.

I head to the room that once housed my father's home office. It's mine now. Once inside, I shut the door and lean against it, letting out a breath I didn't realize I've been holding. The paper feels heavy in my pocket—heavy with the potential for chaos.

I pull it out and stare at the hastily scribbled names again. There are three—a senator from Louisiana, an EPA chief, and a city councilwoman from New York City.

I text the EPA chief from a burner phone. She's the one I need, after all.

The response is swift, a short and simple Yes?

I take a moment to consider my words, knowing that they carry great weight. This is a person Grandfather—and probably my father as well—has had dealings with.

I type out my message.

Need a favor. Confidential.

Her reply is almost immediate. Who is this?

I smirk at the screen. She isn't playing games.

A mutual friend , I reply.

A pause before she replies again.

What kind of favor?

The kind that requires your professional involvement and discretion.

Another pause—longer this time—before she finally sends back a single word.

Details .

I text back. Need an EPA stay on some private property near the Texas border.

A moment passes before the three dots appear to move. I wait for her response.

The Bellamy property?

My heart races. She knows?

Fuck. I'm in now.

Yes , I text back.

Another long pause.

Wheels are already in motion , she finally replies.

I stare at the screen, mind whirling. What does she mean by that? Is she with me or against me?

Clarify , I type back, my fingers shaking just slightly.

The damnable ellipsis appears again, taunting me as I wait for her response.

The dilapidated barn by the border. It's a high-risk zone . Paperwork has been filed. Bellamy will be notified first thing tomorrow not to begin excavation.

A high-risk zone? My heart thumps. Tomorrow? That's much faster than I anticipated. This is real. Real .

I'm in this. I knew I was, but now it's certain. I'm using my grandfather's nefarious contacts to help a friend. It's personal. We don't do personal.

Thanks , I text, trying to maintain an air of calmness despite the panic bubbling up inside me.

Don't thank me yet , she messages back, eerily echoing my grandfather's words from earlier.

I place the burner phone down on the desk.

Someone got to her before I did.

It wasn't the Bellamys.

And it wasn't me.

Who the fuck else knows about this?