Chapter 4 - The Vipers' Panic
Back at the hospital, Marcus paced the empty corridor like a caged, rabid animal.
Sylvia stood by the window, nervously biting her perfect, manicured nails.
“The poison was supposed to be untraceable,” Marcus hissed, kicking a plastic chair across the room.
“He was supposed to die quietly of a heart attack on that train!”
Sylvia crossed her arms, her eyes dark with calculating malice.
“We doubled the dose in his thermos, Marcus. He should have been dead before the train even reached the station.”
“But that little girl ruined everything by calling the paramedics.”
Marcus grabbed his phone, his mind racing with the implications of the silver coin.
“Silas took her,” Marcus muttered, pacing faster.
“Daniel gave that street rat his personal seal. Do you know what that means?”
Sylvia looked up, a cruel, terrifying realization dawning on her face.
“Marcus,” she whispered slowly. “Did you look at that child's face?”
Marcus stopped pacing. “What about it?”
“Those dark eyes. That stubbornly set jaw,” Sylvia said, her voice trembling slightly.
“She looked exactly like Jonathan.”
Marcus froze, the blood turning to ice in his veins.
Jonathan Moretti was Daniel’s only son, the rightful heir to the empire, who had supposedly died in a tragic house fire six years ago.
A fire that Marcus had secretly ordered to ensure he would be next in line for the throne.
They had never found Jonathan's wife or their infant daughter in the ashes.
“It can’t be,” Marcus breathed, panic finally breaking his arrogant facade.
“If Daniel finds out that his granddaughter is alive... if he finds out I was the one who killed his son...”
“He will burn the entire city to the ground to destroy us.”
Sylvia grabbed Marcus’s arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his expensive suit.
“We have to finish this tonight, Marcus.”
“Call the Rossi family. Tell them we will give them the docks and the south side territory.”
“Tell them we need a hit squad sent to Bridgeport immediately.”
Marcus pulled out his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed the number of their greatest rival.
“And what about Daniel?” Marcus asked, glancing toward the ICU doors.
Sylvia’s eyes turned completely black with murder.
“I will go into his room and inject air into his IV line.”
“We will blame it on a secondary heart failure.”
“By sunrise, we will be the king and queen of Chicago.”
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They did not know that the game had already changed.
They did not know that a little bird had already sung her song, and the true king was waking up.
