Chapter 5
Domenico did not defend his father.
That surprised Miriam.
“You believe me?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“I believe dead men lose the right to be protected from questions.”
Conrad looked toward him.
For once, agreement.
Miriam explained.
Raffaele Ravello had revived August’s old child-training program years earlier.
Not publicly.
Not across the whole family.
Only selected children.
He called it the First Line.
Children who might someday threaten or support succession were observed.
Some tested.
Some removed.
Domenico’s jaw tightened.
“Did he test me?”
Miriam nodded.
“How?”
“You were eight.”
Domenico remembered a summer house.
Cold showers.
Waking before dawn.
His father sending him through dark hallways to identify which men were still awake.
He had called it discipline.
Maybe not.
“Conrad?”
“No.”
Conrad laughed bitterly.
“Not good enough.”
Miriam looked at him.
“Not obedient enough.”
That almost pleased him.
Then he remembered Julian.
“What did Raffaele want with my son?”
Miriam’s eyes moved toward Domenico.
“Balance.”
Domenico frowned.
“What?”
“He was worried Domenico would become too powerful.”
Domenico stared.
“My father believed a five-year-old could balance me?”
“Not Julian alone.”
“Then?”
“Another branch.”
Conrad understood.
“My son would become rival heir.”
“Yes.”
Conrad’s face darkened.
“So Raffaele wanted him trained.”
“Yes.”
“Did he order the kidnapping?”
Miriam shook her head.
“No.”
“How sure?”
“I confronted him.”
“When?”
“After the first photograph.”
“What did he say?”
“That the system had moved beyond him.”
Domenico felt cold.
“Someone took control.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Couldn’t.”
Miriam nodded.
“That frightened him.”
Domenico thought of Raffaele’s final years.
Paranoid.
Changing guards.
Sleeping in different rooms.
Domenico had assumed age.
Maybe fear.
“What did Father call the person?”
Miriam whispered:
“The Shepherd.”
Conrad almost laughed.
“A man stealing children calls himself Shepherd.”
“Maybe not a man.”
Domenico noticed.
“Why say that?”
“Raffaele always said Shepherd, never he.”
The role mattered more than identity.
“What did Shepherd want?”
“Children who could be shaped without family interference.”
“Why?”
“To create loyalty outside blood.”
Domenico looked toward Eli’s football.
A shadow family.
Children raised from multiple branches, maybe multiple families.
Loyal not to surname.
To whoever trained them.
Conrad whispered:
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
“Eight years.”
Miriam looked at him.
“He could be alive.”
Conrad’s eyes filled.
Domenico spoke before hope consumed reason.
“Could.”
Conrad looked angry.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not taking hope.”
Domenico held his gaze.
“I’m stopping it from making you stupid.”
Conrad almost struck him.
Then understood.
Eight years of grief could make a man follow any voice claiming to know his child.
Exactly what someone might want.
Domenico examined the football again.
Inside the panel, beneath the cylinder, was a small fabric tag.
Not visible at first.
Embroidered symbol.
A shepherd’s crook crossing a Ravello wolf.
Miriam froze.
“That’s new.”
“Never seen?”
“No.”
Conrad touched it.
“What does it mean?”
Domenico looked at the estate windows.
“Someone wants us to know Shepherd exists.”
“Why?”
“Because secrets revealed at convenient moments are usually weapons.”
Conrad stared.
“Against who?”
Domenico looked at him.
“Us.”
A staff member entered.
“Mr. Ravello.”
Domenico turned.
“What?”
“We found someone in the greenhouse.”
Everyone froze.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
The staff member swallowed.
“An old man.”
Eli’s words.
The old man gave me the ball.
Domenico moved.
In the greenhouse, two bodyguards stood beside a chair.
An elderly man sat calmly between them.
White hair.
Weathered face.
Dark eyes.
Eli had been right.
Daddy eyes.
Domenico stopped.
He knew the face.
Not personally.
From old photographs.
His grandfather’s brother.
Nicola Ravello.
Supposedly dead for fifty years.
The old man smiled.
“Hello, Domenico.”
Conrad whispered:
“Uncle Nico.”
Nicola looked toward the football.
May you like
Then at Conrad.
“Your son still remembers how to throw.”
