Chapter 6: The Broken Safe
The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Vincent, sealing us inside the dimly lit study like a tomb. The air tasted of old paper, polished mahogany, and the lingering smoke of Vincent’s imported cigars. My fingers still gripped the corner of the leather-bound ledger hidden deep inside my apron pocket, the rough grain of the hide pressing against my thigh like a live wire. Vincent didn't look at me right away. He walked over to the corner bar, poured two fingers of amber bourbon into a heavy crystal glass, and downed it in a single, unhurried motion. His broad shoulders were tense, the fabric of his white shirt straining slightly across his back as he set the glass down with a dull clink.
"Show me," Vincent said quietly, turning around to face me. His dark eyes weren't angry anymore; they were hollow, stripped of the terrifying armor he usually wore in front of the board members and rival syndicates. He looked less like a mafia boss in that moment and more like a father who had just realized the wolves had been living inside his own nursery.
I pulled the ledger out, setting it gently on the center of his mahogany desk. The gold-embossed spine, long hidden behind the secret wainscoting panel of the private dining room, caught the amber glow of the desk lamp. Vincent stepped forward, his leather shoes making no sound on the thick Persian rug. He didn't open it with urgency; he ran a calloused thumb across the monogrammed leather, his expression darkening with every second.
"This isn't just Adrian's ledger," I whispered, keeping my voice low, mindful of the dark hallways outside. "Look at the routing numbers on page forty-two. Those aren't corporate accounts. They trace back to offshore shell companies that match the ones handling the syndicate's drug routes through the port."
Vincent flipped the pages methodically, his jaw tightening until the muscle ticked visibly. "Adrian wasn't just skimming from the family foundation," he muttered, almost to himself. "He was selling our distribution routes piece by piece to the Moretti family, using my name as the liability buffer." He looked up, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "He thought I was too distracted by Leo's custody battle to notice the bleeding."
"He thought wrong," I said, finding a sudden surge of steady courage I didn't know I possessed. "But he knows I have it. When he cornered me in the hallway, he wasn't just offering a bribe. He was testing whether I knew the full extent of what was inside."
Vincent closed the ledger with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet room. He walked over to the wall safe hidden behind a heavy oil painting of his late grandfather, spun the dial with practiced precision, and slid the book into the reinforced steel interior. He slammed the heavy door shut, locking it tight.
"The safe in this room isn't secure anymore," Vincent said, turning back to me with a resolute look in his eyes. "Adrian has keys to half the locks in this estate. We need to move the evidence off-site tonight, and we need a distraction big enough to keep his eyes off both of us."
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"What kind of distraction?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"The kind that makes him think he's winning," Vincent replied, a cold, calculating smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Helena is hosting the charity gala tomorrow night. Everyone who is anyone in the underworld and high society will be under this roof. That is when we expose him."
