Chapter 39 - The blood pact at sea
Julian’s face twisted in disbelief. "Liar! My tracking telemetry confirmed the boy was in the Maine safehouse!"
"You tracked the silver coin around his neck," Richard said, stepping forward until he was less than five feet from his son. "The coin you told him to guard. I found the Vatican tracking transponder inside the silver casing the second Dr. Thorne put Noah under the MRI. I gave the coin to Sarah. She ran straight to Maine with it, believing she had the golden ticket."
Richard’s eyes bore into Julian’s very soul.
"Sarah isn't Elena Rossi, Julian. Elena Rossi died in a car crash in Milan four years ago. The dossier you’re holding was fed to your European intelligence liaison by Viktor three weeks ago. We knew you were watching the medical databases. We wanted you to believe you had an inside angle on me. We wanted you to drop your guard and consolidate all forty billion into a single, accessible account in Montenegro."
Julian stumbled back against the banquet table, knocking over a crystal goblet. Red wine spread across the white linen like arterial blood. "No... no, the cryptographic keys—"
"The cryptographic keys required a biometrics authorization from the Bellacorte patriarch," Viktor interjected from the shadows, holding up a ruggedized tactical tablet. The screen glowed green, displaying a digital transfer sequence completing at 100%. "When you sat at this table, Don Richard’s facial recognition and satellite link overrode your secondary protocol. The forty billion isn't in Geneva, Julian. It’s sitting in a blind humanitarian trust in Noah’s name, locked until his twenty-fifth birthday, managed by three international courts that don't take bribes from the Vatican or the syndicates."
"You ruined us!" Julian screamed, drawing a hidden snub-nosed revolver from beneath his jacket with blinding speed. "You destroyed forty years of empire building for a child who isn't even old enough to remember your name!"
Julian raised the gun, his finger tightening on the trigger.
*Bang.*
The shot shattered the silence of the hall.
Julian’s body jerked. He looked down in shock at the blooming crimson stain spreading across his pristine charcoal waistcoat. His revolver slipped from his numbing fingers, clattering onto the stone flags.
Richard stood with his smoking .45 extended, his face carved from ice, not a single tremor in his arm.
Julian fell to his knees, clutching his chest, dark blood bubbling past his lips. He looked up at his father, his eyes wide with a mixture of agony, disbelief, and terrifying awe.
"You... you shot your own son..." Julian gasped, blood spilling onto the floor.
"My son died six years ago in Sicily," Richard said, his voice devoid of hatred, carrying only the absolute weight of judgment. "You are just a ghost that needed to be put into the ground."
Julian collapsed forward onto the ancient stones, his breathing growing shallow and ragged. The classical music on the stereo finally came to an end, leaving the vast banquet hall in total, suffocating silence.
May you like
Viktor approached, checking Julian’s pulse at the neck, and then looked up at Richard. "It's done, Don Richard. The serpent is dead."
Richard didn't look at the body. He holstered his weapon, adjusted the lapels of his heavy coat, and turned toward the arched doorway. "Burn this fortress to the waterline. Erase every server, every document, every trace of the Bellacorte name from this rock. We are going home."
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