Chapter 4 - The Dead Man Walking
The tablet screen glowed faintly against the dark floorboards, displaying chemical formulas and medical notes that bridged a fifteen-year nightmare. Marco stared down at the glowing screen, his breath hitching in his throat.
"That's impossible," Marco muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The coroner's report from fifteen years ago stated Elena died of a rare synthetic neurotoxin. Only one chemist in the city possessed the formula... and I personally watched him burn when his laboratory was torched."
Isabella chuckled softly from her chair, blood trickling from the corner of her lip where Marco had shoved her earlier. "You always were too quick to trust fire, Marco. Fire leaves ashes, but ashes don't always tell the whole story."
Marco whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto her with murderous intent. "What are you talking about?"
"Dr. Alistair Vance," Isabella said, a sickeningly sweet smile spreading across her bruised face. "My uncle. The brilliant chemist the underworld thought died in a fiery explosion fifteen years ago. You torched his lab because you thought he made the poison for the Moretti family. But you didn't check the body, did you? You never found a corpse."
A cold sweat broke out across Marco’s neck. He remembered that night vividly. The smell of burning flesh, the crumbling concrete, the satisfying roar of the flames as he exacted his revenge. He had been so young, so arrogant in his newfound power, believing that fire could cleanse all sins.
"He's alive," Marco stated, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
"Very much alive," Isabella purred. "And he's been waiting a very long time to finish what he started. Sophia was never just a target to usurp your estate, Marco. She was bait. Uncle Alistair knew that the moment we poisoned your daughter with his signature compound, your paranoid mind would start digging into the past. He wanted you to find out."
"Why?" Marco demanded, stepping close enough to shadow her entirely. "What does he want with me?"
Before Isabella could answer, the estate’s security system chimed frantically. Red emergency lights began to pulse along the hallways outside the study, casting an ominous crimson hue across the walls.
Leo’s phone buzzed aggressively. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his face drained of all color.
"Boss," Leo said, his voice tight with panic. "We've got a breach at the eastern gate. Security feeds show... they're bypassing our encryption codes. It's not a rival family. It's a professional wet-work squad."
"Lock down the panic room! Move Sophia and Maria to the sub-basement bunker!" Marco ordered, his tactical mind instantly snapping back into place.
"We can't, boss," Leo swallowed hard. "The power grid to the main mansion just shut down. All electronic locks are dead. And... look at the main security monitor."
Leo tapped his phone, casting the live camera feed onto the wall-mounted television in the study.
The front gates of the Benadetti estate stood wide open. Heavy armored vehicles bearing no insignia sat idling in the driveway. But it wasn't the mercenaries pouring out of the vehicles that made Marco’s heart stop.
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Walking calmly at the front of the squad, leaning slightly on a silver-headed cane, was an old man with sharp, bird-like features and silver hair. He looked up directly into the security camera lens, as if he knew Marco was watching, and smiled a thin, knowing smile.
"Uncle Alistair," Isabella whispered in awe, her eyes shining with manic devotion. "He's home."
