Chapter 9
Lucinda demanded the note.
Not from Sebastian.
From Preston.
“Where is it?”
Her voice shook.
Preston stared at her.
“Sit down.”
She went still.
Sebastian watched her hear the command differently now.
Twenty years ago, perhaps it sounded protective.
Now it sounded exactly like what it was.
Control.
Lucinda stepped closer.
“Where.”
Preston’s jaw tightened.
“You don't need it.”
Her eyes widened.
“You decided that?”
“I saved you from humiliation.”
“By stealing the one thing I spent my life believing didn't exist?”
He laughed.
“Salvatore writing your name on a page wasn't going to make him your father.”
Lucinda’s face changed.
Sebastian said nothing.
Preston continued.
“He didn't raise you.”
“Didn't protect you.”
“Didn't choose you.”
His voice became colder.
“I did.”
Lucinda stared.
“And look what you became.”
That landed.
Even Preston realized it after the words left him.
Lucinda’s hand moved toward her chest.
Sebastian saw something break.
Not forgiveness.
Not redemption.
Identity.
She looked toward the staircase.
Toward where Elisa had gone.
The child whose hair she had cut because a vase broke.
The child she had punished for being openly loved.
Lucinda looked sick.
But Preston would not let her stay there.
He needed her angry.
“You want to blame me now?”
He sneered.
“Go ahead.”
“Maybe Sebastian will give you a chair beside his.”
His eyes moved over her gown.
“Maybe he'll call you sister and suddenly forty-four years of bitterness become adorable.”
Lucinda’s expression hardened.
There.
He almost had her again.
Sebastian spoke.
“Lucinda.”
She turned.
He did not call her sister.
Did not offer comfort.
“You hurt Elisa.”
Her lips pressed together.
“Yes.”
No excuse.
Preston laughed.
“See?”
He looked at Sebastian.
“Blood doesn't fix rot.”
Sebastian’s eyes moved toward him.
“No.”
A pause.
“But neither does feeding it.”
Preston’s smile weakened.
Sebastian turned toward Orlando.
“Where would he keep something like the note?”
Orlando thought.
Then Lucinda answered.
“The banner room.”
Preston’s face changed.
She saw it.
Power reversed again.
Lucinda smiled bitterly.
“You always hated anyone touching the old banners.”
Preston’s jaw tightened.
Lucinda looked at Sebastian.
“He has a compartment behind the Saint Michael standard.”
They went upstairs.
Preston remained under guard.
The compartment existed.
Inside lay three things.
Salvatore’s acknowledgment.
A black Vellani signet ring.
And a small photograph.
Lucinda picked it up.
Her hands began shaking.
Preston stood beside Matteo Vellani.
Much younger.
Both smiling.
On the back was a date.
Three weeks before the warehouse fire.
And one sentence:
After Salvatore, we take Sebastian.
Lucinda looked toward Sebastian.
May you like
Preston had not merely planned to avenge his father.
Sebastian had always been part of the target.
