Chapter 4 The Man Behind the Throne

Marco didn't sleep. He stared at the photo until his eyes burned. Arturo. Always standing one step behind his father. The quiet uncle. The trusted adviser. The man who preached patience while bodies burned. But in that blurred photo, frozen behind Danilo like a ghost in the dark, he wasn't watching. He was orchestrating. Marco paced the length of the storage unit, boots crunching over spilled glass. The edges of truth were razor sharp now-every corner cut deeper. He stuffed the photo into his coat and torched the rest of the contents. No paper trail. Not for this.

Smoke curled into the air like a warning. It was time to confront a legacy no one dared name. 3:17 a.m. Valieri Estate. Marco moved through the halls like a shadow. Arturo's study sat at the west end of the house, locked and silent. A fingerprint scanner protected it. Marco placed his father's severed thumb-preserved on ice in the Red Room-against the pad. The lock clicked open. Inside, the study smelled like wood polish and old books. Mahogany shelves. Whiskey untouched. Files organized with militant precision. Marco moved straight to the safe behind the portrait of his grandfather. He didn't need the code. He'd watched Arturo enter it a hundred times as a boy. 0-4-1-1-9-7 - the date Salvatore took the crown. The door swung open. Inside: money, documents... and a single VHS tape in a black case labeled only: "D." Marco blinked. He didn't have a player in the mansion. But he knew where to find one. Twenty minutes later, he sat in an old surveillance room below the wine cellar, dust choking the screens. A forgotten relic of Salvatore's early reign. He pushed the tape in. Static filled the monitor. Then it cleared. Grainy footage. Warehouse. Night. Salvatore stood alone, hands tied, face bloodied. Danilo stood in front of him-leather jacket, steady hand, pistol pointed directly at the Don's skull. A third voice spoke from offscreen. Calm. Cold. Familiar. Arturo. "Do it. End this. He's lost the fire. He's weak." Danilo didn't move. Salvatore spoke, voice slurred. "If you kill me... you'll never hold the city." Danilo looked off camera. "He built it. You just whispered in his ear." Arturo: "That whisper kept you alive." The camera shook slightly as if someone holding it flinched. Danilo lowered the gun. "He's still the Don." Salvatore looked up, almost smiling. Arturo's voice cut sharper now. "Then you've chosen your side." The screen erupted in motion. Gunfire. Screaming. The image tipped and crashed. The last frame before the static returned was Salvatore crawling toward Danilo, blood pouring from his chest. Then silence. Marco sat frozen. The tape had no date. No signature. But he knew the truth. Arturo had tried to execute his own brother. Danilo had spared him. And someone-likely Arturo-had tried to erase Danilo for it. So why did Salvatore keep Arturo alive? Why keep a viper in your bed? Marco stood, mind racing. Loyalty wasn't about blood. It was about leverage. Salvatore didn't forgive Arturo. He buried the betrayal under power. A balance of silence. But silence only holds for so long. 4:41 a.m. Arturo was in the conservatory, sipping espresso, watching the storm fade through glass walls. Marco entered without knocking. "You always rise early, or did your guilt keep you up?" Marco asked. Arturo glanced up, unfazed. "Something on your mind?" Marco sat across from him, tossing the photo onto the glass table between them. Then, the VHS tape. Arturo looked at both without flinching. "I see you've been digging." Marco didn't blink. "You tried to kill my father. You stood behind the man with the gun. And now you sit in his house drinking from his cup." Arturo exhaled through his nose. "He deserved it. You don't know the things your father did during those years. The people he slaughtered. The lines he crossed." "I'm not talking about morality," Marco said coldly. "I'm talking about betrayal." Arturo leaned forward, voice dropping. "Then understand this: your father was never a king. He was a butcher with a crown. I tried to save this family." "By siding with Danilo?" Arturo laughed once. "Danilo was the only one with a conscience. And your father cut that out of him, too." Marco stared. "Did you kill Danilo?" Arturo's expression darkened. "Danilo killed himself the day he spared your father. After that, we couldn't find him. No one could." "And yet someone's using his name to dismantle this family." Arturo stood, face unreadable. "Then find them. Kill them. But understand this, Marco-power doesn't survive on sentiment. If you want to keep your seat, you better learn how to bleed without flinching." He walked past Marco, pausing in the doorway. "And if you ever come at me again with a gun or a question like that-be sure you're ready to finish it." Marco stayed seated long after he left. The lines weren't clear anymore. His father had ruled through fear. Arturo had ruled through deceit. And Danilo-if he truly was dead-had been the last thread of honor in a house built on betrayal. But if Danilo was alive... If he was the one sending the messages... Marco had to find him first. Before someone else did.