Chapter 7
Preston recovered with contempt.
“A dying man was afraid of a boy.”
He smiled.
“Very intimidating.”
Lucinda did not laugh.
She stared at him.
“What did you do?”
His eyes moved toward her.
“I protected you.”
Sebastian almost smiled at the phrase.
He had heard men use it his entire life when they meant control.
Lucinda’s voice sharpened.
“From what?”
Preston looked toward the tape.
“From him.”
Lucinda stepped closer.
“You told me Salvatore called me his shame.”
Preston’s nostrils flared.
“He did.”
“The tape says—”
“The tape says what he wanted Sebastian to hear.”
His voice rose.
“He was manipulating you even from a cellar.”
Lucinda’s face hardened.
The old wound wanted to believe Preston.
Sebastian saw it.
Preston saw it too.
He moved closer to his wife.
“He had twenty-three years to claim you.”
His voice softened.
“He didn't.”
Lucinda’s eyes lowered.
There.
The argument worked because it contained truth.
Sebastian did not interrupt.
Preston continued.
“I was the one who stayed.”
His hand reached toward hers.
“You remember that.”
Lucinda looked at him.
“Yes.”
A whisper.
Preston smiled.
Power returning.
Sebastian stepped toward the recorder.
“Play the rest.”
Preston’s eyes flashed.
Orlando pressed play.
Salvatore’s voice returned.
“Preston came to me tonight.”
Lucinda’s head lifted.
“He said Lucinda no longer needed my name.”
Preston’s jaw hardened.
“He said she had his.”
Lucinda looked toward her husband.
Salvatore coughed.
“He told me if I acknowledged her, Enzo would die before sunrise.”
The room went silent.
Lucinda whispered:
“You threatened Enzo?”
Preston’s smile vanished.
Salvatore continued.
“I don't know whose side the boy is on.”
A pause.
“But he knows more about the warehouse fire than he should.”
Preston stepped forward.
“Turn it off.”
Sebastian looked at him.
For the first time, there was no mockery.
No arrogance.
Only command.
Orlando kept the tape running.
Salvatore:
“The fire was meant to kill me.”
A breath.
“But Enzo did not arrange it.”
Lucinda’s face changed.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.
“Then who did?”
The tape answered.
“I heard the man outside my door call Preston by name.”
Static.
Then:
“The voice belonged to Matteo Vellani.”
Several old capos stiffened.
Sebastian knew the name.
A rival lieutenant killed in the war twenty years ago.
Preston’s father.
At least, the man Preston had always publicly called his father had been someone else.
Lucinda stared at Preston.
“No.”
He looked at her.
She whispered:
“Matteo Vellani was your real father?”
Preston said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Lucinda stepped backward.
May you like
The man she had married had carried rival blood into the Caradonna house.
And never told her.
