Chapter 4 - The Family Blood
Nicholas Russo had never wanted the life of an operator. While I ran the syndicate streets, collecting debts and consolidating power, Nicholas had spent his twenties drifting through European universities, collecting art degrees and gambling debts that I quietly paid off with untraceable bearer bonds.
When Isabella died, Nicholas had been the only family member to fly in immediately, offering a shoulder to cry on, helping me manage the estate, and acting as the gentle uncle the girls desperately needed while I was out hunting blood.
Which made the glowing red text on the terminal log all the more impossible to swallow.
Source IP: Internal Subnet 192.168.1.104 (Guest Suite - Second Floor).
Target: Nursery Audio Feed / Master Recording Archive.
Frequency: Daily at 8:00 PM, following Dominic's departure for downtown.
I stared at the screen, the room spinning slightly around me.
"Nick," I whispered, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.
"He's had access to the master system since we installed the new security grid two years ago," Vince said quietly, his hand resting near the holster beneath his suit jacket. "Boss... you want me to bring him down here?"
"No," I said, standing up so abruptly my chair scraped harshly against the hardwood floor. "I'll do it myself."
I walked out of the study, my boots clicking rhythmically against the marble hallway. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, the cold rage that had kept me alive in the underworld surging back through my veins with terrifying clarity.
I took the grand staircase two steps at a time, bypassing the nursery where I could hear Rosa singing a soft lullaby to calm the twins, and marched straight down the second-floor corridor toward the guest wing.
The door to Nicholas’s suite was ajar. A faint strip of yellow light spilled out onto the carpet.
I didn't knock. I kicked the heavy oak door open with a single, brutal thrust of my boot.
The door slammed against the interior wall with a deafening crash.
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Nicholas sat at a sleek walnut desk near the window, a laptop glowing open in front of him, a glass of scotch half-filled beside his hand. He didn't jump. He didn't drop his pen. He slowly turned his head toward the doorway, his expression entirely devoid of surprise, wearing a slow, chilling smile that I had never seen on my brother’s face before.
"Well," Nicholas said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I was wondering how long it would take you to look at the server logs, big brother. You're losing your edge."
