Chapter 138 YOUR WIFE’S FATHER.
\~~~LUCIANO
The drive to the meet up point with Arthur felt endless, even though it was just a half-hour out of town. Viktor gripped the wheel tight, his knuckles white against the black leather, but he didn't say a word.
I sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the passing warehouses and empty lots, my mind sharp as a blade.
We finally pulled up to the old brick building on the industrial edge and the lot was empty. Viktor killed the engine, and we stepped out into the crisp air.
I adjusted my jacket, feeling the weight of the folder tucked inside. Viktor gave me a nod, his eyes scanning the shadows. “Are you good?” he muttered.
“Always,” I replied, my voice steady. We walked in through the side door, the hinges creaking like a warning.
I pushed it wide and stepped in, Viktor right behind me like a shadow.
Arthur sat behind a scarred wooden desk, trying to look like the king of his little empire. He was in his mid-fifties now, hair graying at the temples, face lined from years of lies and bad choices. He stood as we entered, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
“Mr. Moretti. Right on time,” His voice was smooth, but I caught the stiffness right away as the way his shoulders hunched just a fraction, like he was bracing for a hit.
I nodded, taking the chair opposite him without invitation. Viktor leaned against the wall, with his arms crossed. Arthur sat back down slowly, his hands folding on the table.
But there it was, his leg bouncing under the table, a subtle shake he couldn't quite control.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, even though the room was cool. He gripped the edge of his chair, his fingers whitening.
He had been hiding well behind that fake composure, but every small tell screamed fear. I appreciated it, in a cold way as it was going to make this easier.
“Let’s cut the pleasantries,” I said, my voice soft, almost conversational.
But underneath, it was ice cold and unyielding. I'd run through every scenario in my head a hundred times. His denials, excuses, and pleas. He could lie all he wanted, and I was ready.
Arthur's leg kept shaking, a steady rhythm like a ticking clock. He swallowed, his eyes flicking to Viktor then back to me. “What is it you want, Luciano? You said urgent.”
I leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with him.
“Twenty years ago, my mother died, Arthur. Car accident, they called it. Brakes failed on a wet road, they had said.” My words hung in the air, deliberate and slow.
“They hid the fact that she had been stabbed to death. It wasn't an accident. You were involved, Arthur.”
His face paled, but he shook his head quickly, too quickly.
“What? No, Luciano, that is insane. I had nothing to do with that. Your mother... Elena was a good woman, but I barely knew her. We never even met alone. This is some misunderstanding,” he said, spreading his hands wide, playing the innocent card, his voice pitching up like he was shocked. Ignorant, that is what he wanted to seem. A clueless old man caught off guard.
I watched him, unmoving. His denial was textbook, right on cue. But I saw the cracks, the way his jaw tightened, and his leg now jiggling faster now. He was sweating more, a sheen across his upper lip.
Without a word, I reached into my jacket and pulled out the folder. It landed on the desk with a soft thud, photos spilling slightly from the edges. Old black-and-whites, grainy but clear enough. I pushed it toward him. “Look.”
Arthur's eyes dropped to the stack, and he hesitated, hand hovering before he picked up the top one. His breath hitched.
I watched every micro-expression. His jaw clenched hard, like he was biting back words. His leg shaking stopped for a second, then started again, worse than before. Hands clenched around the photo, his knuckles popping. He flipped to the next, his eyes widening, then slammed the folder shut. Avoiding my gaze, he stared at the wall instead.
Fidgeting with his tie, and pulling at his collar, raw and unmasked fear covered his face..
“Where did you get these?” he muttered, his voice cracking.
“Does it matter?” I asked evenly. “They show the truth of you and Elena alone and often. So don't lie to me about never meeting.”
He swallowed hard, his throat working like it hurt. Small tremble in his hands as he set the folder down.
“Your mother and I... we had been in love,” The words tumbled out, laced with discomfort, like admitting it burned.
He tried to lean into it, appeal to some shred of emotion, maybe paint it romantic, and reasonable.
“It was a long time ago, and a mistake, but it was real. She was unhappy with your father. We kept it quiet. But I swear, Luciano, I didn't hurt her. I loved her.”
I didn't react. No flinch, and no anger flashing across my face.
I'd calculated this too. I had imagined every plea, and every sob story. He was grasping, trying to humanize it, and make me see him as the heartbroken lover instead of the snake.
But it fell flat. His leg bounced erratically now, sweat dripping down his temple. He rubbed his hands together, avoiding my eyes, and glancing at the door like he could bolt.
Every tremble confirmed his guilt, or at least a mountain of secrets he was burying. He was cornered, and he knew it.
I stood slowly, towering over the desk, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
“Love or not, you had a hand in her death. And for that, your bloodline ends here,” I leaned in closer, letting the threat sink in.
“I am here with you, alone. Viktor sees to that. If you drop dead right now, no one would know. There are no witnesses, no trail but just you, gone.”
Arthur's face drained of color, his eyes darting between Viktor and me. His hands shook openly now, gripping the desk like it was a lifeline. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shouted, voice breaking through the tension like glass shattering.
“I didn't kill your mother, Luciano! I didn't kill Elena. Your father did!”
The words hung there, heavy and accusatory. Viktor shifted slightly behind me, but I held still, processing. Arthur's chest heaved, fear turning to desperation. His leg had stopped shaking, and now he was frozen, staring at me with wide eyes, like he'd just thrown his last card on the table.
I straightened with my mind racing but my face a mask.
Father? The man who'd buried the case, called it an accident. If Arthur was lying to save his skin... or if there was truth in it, I couldn’t tell.
The room felt smaller, and the air thick with his shout echoing off the walls. I picked up the folder, tucking it back into my jacket.
“Well then,” I said softly, “let’s see about that.” My eyes locked onto him, steady, and unflinching. “Let’s see if your story holds any weight.”
Arthur’s hands trembled now, his eyes darting around the room, calculating an escape. Viktor’s presence was a silent warning, and a shadow looming.
“You are not going to harm me,” Arthur barked suddenly, voice rising. “I am your wife’s father!”
I smiled faintly, but coldly. “Why don’t we wait and see, Arthur? Timing is everything.”
“Raina and I might be on rough terms,” he shouted, panic creeping in, “but she’d never forgive you if you hurt me!”
Viktor remained silent, his gaze on me, watching but I didn’t respond.
The moment stretched, tense, a palpable threat suspended in the room. He tried to measure me and to find the danger in my expression. What he perhaps didn’t know was that I had rehearsed this confrontation a thousand times in my mind. I had plotted every angle, every word, every pause.
And I was prepared to act, precisely, efficiently.
Two men arrived at the door just then, “You said to come alone!” he shouted, his voice breaking, while I walked toward the door with Viktor trailing behind me.
I stayed still for a moment, letting him feel the gravity of his situation.
His shouts echoed, hollow, and desperate.