Chapter 11 - Vincent Marconi's Last Game
Giulietta hit pause.
Nobody spoke.
A car alarm chirped somewhere deeper in the garage.
She looked at Matteo.
“You knew he was poisoned.”
Matteo’s face stayed still.
“I knew he suspected it.”
“You buried him without telling me.”
“He made me promise.”
Giulietta crossed the space between them.
“What else did he make you promise?”
Matteo looked at the laptop.
“Play it.”
She wanted to hit him again.
Instead she pressed play.
Vincent’s recorded voice returned.
“For five months, somebody altered my medication in amounts small enough to hide. I tested my blood privately. I found traces my doctors missed.”
Luca sat on the garage floor now, a medic pressing gauze to his eyebrow.
Giulietta did not look away from the screen.
Vincent held up a folder.
“The physician network connects to private competency evaluations, controlled prescriptions, and legal incapacity cases. If this file activates, find Adrian Keller.”
Keller.
Giulietta’s hand tightened around the laptop edge.
Vincent continued.
“Matteo believes I suspect him. I do. But suspicion is not proof.”
Matteo exhaled slowly.
Giulietta glanced at him.
“For once, the dead man is being fair to you.”
“Keep watching.”
The video changed.
Audio waveform.
Vincent’s voice spoke first.
“You researched Article Seven behind my back.”
Then Matteo.
“I researched every succession risk because you told me to.”
Vincent again.
“You contacted the Hales.”
A third male voice entered.
“You needed leverage, Vincent. We gave you options.”
Giulietta’s head snapped toward Warren.
He stood under guard near the ramp.
His mouth fell open.
“That is not me.”
Giulietta replayed the line.
Same Hale cadence. Same clipped vowels.
Warren shook his head harder.
“I never met Vincent Marconi.”
Preston stood ten feet behind him.
For once, he looked frightened.
Warren heard it too.
He turned slowly toward his son.
Giulietta replayed the audio a third time.
The younger voice was not Warren.
It was Preston.
Warren’s face emptied.
“You were there?”
Preston said nothing.
Giulietta walked toward him.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“My father died when you were twenty-five.”
Preston backed into the hood of a parked car.
Giulietta stopped inches away.
“What did you bring him?”
Preston’s eyes moved to Matteo.
Matteo looked away.
That was enough.
Giulietta grabbed Preston by the throat.
“What did you bring my father?”
Preston’s voice cracked.
“A package.”
“What was in it?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Who gave it to you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
May you like
“Matteo.”
