Chapter 12
Vivienne’s books were exactly where Fatima remembered.
Seven black notebooks.
Twenty years of human weakness reduced to handwriting.
I refused to read all of them.
That surprised Rafe.
“If there are threats against you—”
“We look for Rienzi names.”
Only what mattered.
I was not going to inherit Vivienne’s poison by becoming addicted to everybody’s secrets.
Four current captains appeared.
Vincent.
Paul.
Edward Lanza.
Michael Russo.
The four promised to Marcus.
Each had a page.
Vincent’s son owed Ashworth money.
Paul had secretly paid for treatment for a woman outside his marriage.
Edward’s brother had stolen from an allied family years earlier.
Michael had been hiding his adult daughter from a violent former partner.
Different secrets.
Different pressures.
The ugliest was Michael.
Vivienne threatened to reveal his daughter’s location if he did not cooperate.
I stared at the page.
There it was again.
Children.
Always children when weak people need leverage over strong adults.
I called all four men.
Not together.
Individually.
Vincent admitted it first.
“I didn’t want your chair.”
“Then why?”
“My boy.”
Simple.
Paul came next.
Then Edward.
Michael cried.
I listened.
Understanding did not erase betrayal.
But truth changed consequence.
They lost command temporarily.
Not because Vivienne deserved their secrets exposed publicly.
Because compromised men could not remain in positions where coercion controlled decisions.
Then I offered something none expected.
Help removing the leverage.
Not forgiveness.
Practical freedom.
Marcus’s promised rebellion collapsed before evening.
Vivienne found out while sitting in my library.
She looked almost impressed.
“You used my books.”
“No.”
I placed them on the table.
“I used the fact that your blackmail stops working once the person being threatened no longer believes the secret is worse than obedience.”
Her expression hardened.
Then Amara wandered into the doorway holding her lamb.
Fatima rushed after her.
Vivienne looked at the child.
Amara looked back.
Then said:
“That’s the mean lady’s mommy.”
Genevieve closed her eyes.
Three-year-olds have no respect for dynasties.
I almost smiled.
Vivienne did not.
She looked at Genevieve.
“Control your embarrassment.”
May you like
My former fiancée stared at her mother.
Then, for the first time I had ever seen, she laughed in Vivienne’s face.
